


Old Wounds

by hit_the_books



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Season/Series 11, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angel Wings, Bisexual Sam Winchester, Blow Jobs, Bottom Castiel, Bottom Sam Winchester, Case Fic, Castiel and Netflix, Castiel in the Bunker, Child Death, Cursed Sam, Dean is Not Amused, Dean is So Done, Explicit Sexual Content, First Time, Haunting, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Power Bottom Castiel, Rimming, Sam is a Little Shit, Sastiel - Freeform, Sastiel Big Bang, Sastiel Big Bang 2016, Semi-Public Sex, Sex in the Impala, Sudden Increase In Sex Drive, Top Castiel, Top Sam Winchester, Understanding Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-02
Updated: 2017-01-02
Packaged: 2018-09-13 09:52:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 31,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9118492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hit_the_books/pseuds/hit_the_books
Summary: Castiel suspects that Sam might have feelings for him, what with the movie and TV show binging they keep doing together. A stay in Atlantic City confirms this, but as Team Free Will moves on to tackle a case in Wells, Maine, Sam's sudden "Ariel phase" could be about to break Team Free Will, and Sam and Cas, apart.It'sSplash, but not as we know it.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well here it is, the longest piece of Sastiel that I've written so far. This idea has been circling in my head since about this time last year, and I decided to finally bring it together for the [2016 Sastiel Big Bang](http://sastiel-bigbang.livejournal.com/).
> 
> Thanks to [what_about_the_fish](http://archiveofourown.org/users/what_about_the_fish) and [majestic_duck](http://archiveofourown.org/users/majestic_duck) for being such wonderful betas C:
> 
> Update: Thanks to [Mayalaen](http://archiveofourown.org/users/mayalaen) for gifting me these wonderful manips.
> 
> Update July 1st 2017: Thanks to [quickreaver](http://quickreaver.tumblr.com) for the fantastic commission piece, which you can now check out in chapter 3.

Kitsch. That’s the way Dean described the casino they’d headed into after the case. Sam had rolled his eyes and gone off in the direction of the restrooms. Castiel? He’d decided that the location had its charms, though he didn’t understand why the owners had decided to mix together Atlantis and pirate themes. Still, it was one of the nicest places in Atlantic City that they had seen, and he was happy to grab some r’n’r—as Dean dubbed it—now that their vampire case out of town had wrapped. Neither of them seemed eager to get back to the Bunker and continue researching the Darkness.

Despite its charm, Castiel didn’t like being surrounded by all these people. It worried him. But he wasn’t going to tell Dean and Sam how he sometimes felt like the fury from Rowena’s spell would suddenly snap through him again. Drag his baser self out. Wouldn’t say a word how he worried, when they were asleep, about whether he really was cured. Feared that what Rowena had unleashed was just simmering away under the surface, ready to be called forth despite her working a counter spell to cure him. It was completely irrational though, because he could feel that the sickness was gone and that he was just haunted by the still fresh memories of what happened.

Knowing you’re cured and _knowing_ you’re cured is something that Castiel can’t currently take for granted. All the crap with his grace over the past few years has made it difficult to know himself. He’s left feeling tight inside the frame of Jimmy that he’s made his own. Castiel is certain that he’s changed, but if he’s no longer a seraph, he doesn’t know what he’s become.

Still, he can dodge out of the way of some bachelorette party, keep the three beers he just bought in their glasses, and make it look like he’s Neo from _The Matrix_ without a second thought. And that’s a reference that he appreciates, but not just because of Metatron’s past meddling. He enjoys it because he and Sam marathoned The Matrix trilogy just before heading out on this case.

“Smooth moves, Neo,” Dean greets, rolling up the sleeves of his plaid shirt as Castiel puts their beers down on the table in their booth. He drags his coat off and folds it away in a corner.

“I would rather not be compared to that character, thank you.” Sliding into the booth, Castiel regards his own glass of beer as he pushes his trench coat further along his seat. He doesn’t need to drink it, but as ever he will do so for the sake of seeming normal.

Huffing, Dean quirks an eyebrow at Castiel. “Cas, you saying you don’t wanna be compared to a fictional savior of humanity?”

Looking away from Dean, seeing if there’s any sign of Sam’s return, Castiel sighs. “I did not appreciate the direction the movies took after the second one.” Glancing back at Dean, Castiel shrugs. “The overt Christ imagery at the end was too much. And without the explanation that _reality_ as Neo and the others thought it to be was not also a simulation meant that… Neo’s powers made little sense. I disliked the lack of explanation in the finale. It was not enough that he was _the one_.”

“When did you—”

“It is one of the many things that Metatron dumped in my head.” _And Sam bought a boxset of the movies when he found that it was not on Netflix. We watched them all in one night_ , Castiel thinks, but doesn’t say as he picks up his beer and gives it an experimental sip. The liquid is weirdly metallic, under the beer a clear hint of the metallic pipes it was pumped through, and Castiel makes a face.

“Geez,” Dean takes a sip of beer, “you know… I was kinda hoping there were some things left we’d get to introduce you to.”

“Do not worry, Metatron missed out a lot of films and television series. He preferred to read.” _And Sam’s been introducing me to a lot of things that I haven’t watched before… I don’t understand why, but he doesn’t seem to want to kick me out of his room_.

“Good… Say, you know much Scorsese?”

Castiel shakes his head.

“Okay! Well, let’s have a Martin Scorsese movie night in between trying to dig up crap on the Darkness. You know, once we get back.” Dean drains half his beer and Castiel wonders where Sam has gotten to.

“That would be nice…” Though Castiel doubts it will be as nice as the evening and night he had spent with Sam, watching through The Matrix movies. They’d sat together, side by side, on Sam’s bed. Together and talking. They talked through the movies. About the movies, testing theories and admiring the fight choreography. Sam breaking down the script choices he wasn’t so sure about. Castiel pointing out philosophical and religious references.

Dean tended not to like it when you talked through movies. And if they all watch something together... What if Sam stays close? What if Dean notices how close Sam and Cas might sit next to each other. Just thinking about that unintended intimacy from their previous movie night makes Castiel gently blush. In front of Dean.

“You okay, dude?” Dean gives Castiel a concerned look.

“Yes.” It’s strange, before the brothers rescued him from Rowena’s spell and Sam introduced Castiel to Netflix, he had never spent so much time with Sam. Yes, Castiel has been spending a lot of time in Sam’s room and he’s not sure why Sam has been putting up with him. A part of Castiel could make a guess, but he’s also afraid that he might be wrong. The possibility that Sam _enjoys_ Castiel’s company is one that fills Castiel with dread and excitement. Brows tightly knitting together, Castiel plays with the condensation on his beer glass.

“You, su—” Dean starts.

“Sam has been gone some time,” Castiel deflects, glancing around their surroundings. All he sees is the earlier bachelorette party and businessmen finally free of the office for the week. Sam would be easy to spot, but there is no sign of his tall frame.

Rolling his shoulders, Dean looks around the casino bar and restaurant area too. “Maybe I should… oh, wait.”

Deans spots Sam and he smiles at Dean and Castiel before sliding in beside his brother.

“I just ordered us some food,” Sam announces, leaning across the table and picking up his glass of beer.

“Sam…” Dean begins and Castiel can already imagine Dean warning against any “rabbit food”.

“Hey, don’t worry. It’s just some buffalo wings. I uh… got a whiff of some and my stomach kinda growled at me. I think it might have scared one of the dealers on break. Anyways, food is on the way.” Sam takes a sip of his beer and smiles.

“Okay, fair. Now that you’re here,” Dean pokes Sam, “you up for a Scorsese movie marathon once we get back to the Bunker?”

Spluttering on his beer, Sam puts his glass down and stares at Dean. “U—h, s—ure.”

“What’d I say? No need to go drowning yourself, Sammy.” Dean whacks Sam on his back like that will help with the beer that’s probably gone down the wrong tube.

Sam coughs and nods his head.

“I could…” Castiel leans across the table holding out two fingers towards Sam.

“No... I’ll,” Sam coughs again, “be fine.”

Withdrawing his hand, Castiel picks up his own beer and gives it another taste. He makes a face and Sam is the only one who sees it. The younger Winchester smirks at Castiel and then a foot gently kicks him under the table. Castiel knows it’s Sam’s foot, but he doesn’t know why Sam did that. So he says nothing.

“Oh, hey,” Dean starts, pointing at Cas, “we were talking about what Cas thought of The Matrix trilogy while you were in the John. Apparently he doesn’t care much for Revolutions.”

“Yeah,” Sam nods, “he told me that when we watched them the other week.”

“You marathoned _The Matrix_ trilogy without me?” Dean asks, sounding faintly hurt.

The buffalo wings suddenly turn up and Sam starts tucking in straight away, ignoring Dean’s question.

“ _Dude_.” Dean waves a hand at Sam, nearly knocking over Sam’s drink.

Sam swallows his mouthful of food and gives Dean a sheepish look. “Uh, we… we… figured you were tired is all,” Sam lies. If Castiel recalls the evening correctly, Sam had said that he’d wanted to watch the movies with just Castiel.

“Oh,” Dean shrugs, “okay… did you like any of them, Cas?”

Tilting his head, Castiel takes a moment before replying, “The first one was charming in its way. I appreciated the… effort that went into the special effects. Sam explained that they had to invent many of them in order to bring together some of the movie’s more iconic moments.

“Yes! Back in 1999, bullet time looked amazing. Still does,” Dean says, picking up a wing and then the brothers launch into a conversation about the films.

Castiel zones out for a moment—letting his awareness take in the whole casino, keeping an eye out for danger—and then jumps back when Sam’s foot knocks against his leg again. Sam keeps snatching little glances at Castiel as he continues talking with Dean. And okay, Castiel isn’t naive and the part of him that knows what’s up is getting louder. The part that’s telling Castiel that he’s watched humanity for centuries and has had far too many great romances shoved in his head by Metatron.

“C’mon dude, the near orgy sc—” Dean starts.

“I really don’t want to talk about that here… or ever.” Sam picks up a buffalo wing and cleans the meat off of it, vigorously sucking it right off the bone. In fact, most of the “wings” seem to have been eaten by Sam, which is strange, Castiel notes.

“Woah, slow down there,” Dean says, tapping Sam’s hand away from the basket.

“Mmmm, hungry,” Sam says, reaching back towards the remaining chicken.

“Yeah, well save some for the rest of us, right, Cas?”

Tilting his head to the side, Castiel furrows his brow. “I do not need to eat, you know this, Dean.”

“Oh for the love of— can you just back me up here?”

Regarding the remaining buffalo wings—all three of them—Castiel looks between the brothers. Torn between Dean’s familiar scowl and Sam’s not so familiar pouting lips—Castiel doesn’t know what to say. Who to back up. Eyes lingering for a moment too long on Sam’s full, sauce covered mouth, Castiel’s vessel warms and he has to fight to get himself under control. Fight to stop the blood rising to his face.

“S—Sam you should share,” Castiel answers and then gets up from the table. “Excuse me, but…” There’s no real explanation Castiel can give for why he just needs to get up right now and be alone. He can’t possibly say to Sam in Dean’s presence that Sam is affecting him to an inexplicable degree. Giving up on explaining himself, Castiel heads for the restrooms.

Ignoring Dean and Sam calling after him, Castiel stalks through the bar area, heading past some minor attractions, including what looks like a male fortune teller’s alcove. He pushes into the men’s restroom and heads over to a sink. It’s memories from Jimmy, combined with some of his time when he was sick from his lack of grace, that make Cas automatically run some cold water and splash his face.

Splashing his face repeatedly, Castiel works to calm himself down. Grace pulling and prodding at his nervous system; at his heart and lungs; at his hormones—Castiel gradually brings himself under control. He feels ridiculous for not being able to easily master himself. For coming so unwound from just looking at Sam’s mouth.

And what had been with the gentle kicking? The tapping of Sam’s boot against his leg? Sam hadn’t done anything like that since the three of them had settled down into the Bunker in the aftermath of the Darkness being unleashed.

The door to the restroom swings open and Castiel knows Sam has joined him. Stopping the faucet, Castiel reaches over the sink and grabs a paper towel. Drying his face and hands, Castiel waits for Sam to say something.

“Cas?” Sam asks hesitantly.

Throwing the used paper towel in the trash, Castiel turns to face Sam. The man’s face seems a touch smoother, younger. Hair more full. _Is it possible that he has become more handsome in the course of an evening?_ Castiel ponders, _And why is he being more… alluring?_

“Sam… why were you touching me with your foot under the table?”

Taking a few steps closer to Castiel, Sam takes in a shaky breath and stares straight into Castiel’s eyes. “It seemed like a good idea.”

“It’s never seemed like a good idea before this evening.”

“What can I say? I got some clarity on a few things.” Sam steps closer.

“What clarity can be reached on a trip to the restroom?” Castiel can’t take his gaze away from Sam’s.

The hunter takes one more step towards Castiel and is right in his personal space. Sam leans in, hands down by his sides and whispers, “This kind,” and then kisses Castiel on his mouth.

Weeks of proximity and companionship are behind Sam’s kiss, and for the first time Castiel feels like he knows himself, understands that this feels good. So he kisses back and then he curls his hands into Sam’s red plaid shirt and pulls the man closer. Sam takes that as his cue to push his tongue into Castiel’s mouth and it’s heated. Kind of unexpected and a logical turn of events at the same time.

Sam holds gently onto Castiel as they continue to kiss, a hand on his waist and a hand on the back of his neck. Castiel loosens his hands from Sam and mirrors the hold. The confusion he’s been feeling lessens with each passing second. There’s a lightness in his chest that he hasn’t felt before.

And then Sam breaks the kiss and smiles at Castiel. It’s near blinding, the warmth and adoration there. “We should head back to Dean,” Sam says. “Though, we shouldn’t say anything about this.”

“I dislike lying to your brother.”

Sam reaches out to Castiel’s tie and tries to straighten it. “Yeah, but you’ll dislike Dean getting all big brother even more.”

“Fine,” Castiel reluctantly agrees. “But is this why you’ve been spending so much time with me?”

Nodding shyly in answer, Sam starts pulling Castiel towards the restroom door. There’s no verbal answer from Sam and the closer they get to their table, the more Castiel begins to think that keeping _this_ , whatever it is, from Dean is perhaps not the best thing to do. That maybe they should talk to him.

It’s not like Dean is known for handling surprises well.

***

In the distance, Castiel can hear the crash of waves as a light wind churns the nearby ocean. The sky is littered with stars, or is to his angel eyes. He was a little surprised when Dean had insisted on stopping for the night at a slightly pricier motel than they would normally spring for. Dean had said something about wanting to see the ocean before they began the one day drive back to the Bunker.

Sat crossed legged on the roof of the motel, Castiel had refused the offer of a room for himself. It seemed like a pointless waste of money. No one had so far entered the premises sober enough to look up and see him sat above Dean and Sam’s room. Dean had said Cas was welcome to join them if he changed his mind.

The offer had been one of a friend to a friend, but with Sam there, in that room, Castiel was unsure it would have remained so simple. Their kiss back in the casino had left Castiel worried. Had the kiss happened of Sam’s own volition? Was there a spell at work? None of Castiel’s senses told him it was magic. He could try to run more tests once they reached the Bunker, but Sam didn’t seem to be bewitched.

 _Hair softer, fuller, perhaps? Maybe he’s been taking better care of himself? But…_ None of it explains why Castiel is finding himself so concerned about Sam, explains why something feels off. _It can’t be normal to feel this paranoid after a kiss_ , Castiel worries at this thread of thought until he can no longer bear it. So he focuses back on the night sky; it’s a beautiful night. Still, with just the quiet hum of late traffic mixing with the low roar of wannabe waves. A calm night.

He’s unsure how long he stays sat there on the roof, but as the sky begins to glow pink with a new dawn, Castiel is snapped away from his thoughts by the opening and closing of the door to Sam and Dean’s room. Looking over the lip of the roof, Castiel spots Sam dressed in his running gear—sweats, sneakers, tank top and hoodie. He fights the urge to jump down and say hello.

Even back at the Bunker, Castiel never interrupts Sam’s runs. He recognizes that the activity provides Sam with a chance to center himself. Clear his head and prepare to handle a new day.

Sam takes off in the direction of the beach. In the room below, Dean stirs a little in his sleep and then settles. It will be an hour before Sam returns. Castiel stretches on the roof, and in the space between planes his wings flex as he moves. Unfurling a little, but nothing like the majesty they once were. New feathers are slowly growing, new quills, but they’ve been doing that since he stole his own grace back.

His wings were on their own schedule, which did not surprise him. Castiel is used to things taking a great deal of time to pass. Civilizations fall faster than it takes for an angel to reach maturity. Regaining his wings? He’d be surprised if he got them back this century. For a moment, he tries to imagine Dean and Sam having the patience to wait for an injury to take that long to heal.

Castiel shakes his head and snorts. He can’t imagine Dean or Sam recovering gracefully from something as traumatic as Castiel losing his wings. They’d last a month, perhaps, before they’d be rooting around for quick fixes, eager to get back to hunting.

Nearby, a group of seagulls rally and take to the sky, calling and shouting as light crests over the horizon. Soon people, perhaps more sober people, would be awake and so Castiel jumps down from the roof, not wanting to cause a stir.

Timing it just right, Castiel heads off to a nearby diner and picks up coffee for all three of them, and breakfast for Sam and Dean. He brings it all back just as Sam is about to head into the shower. Surprisingly, the room smells harshly of salt and iodine, but Castiel doesn’t understand why, until he notices that Sam’s hair is already wet.

“Oh, thanks, Cas!” Sam calls over. “I’ll grab mine once I’m done.” Sam heads into the bathroom and locks the door.

Yawning and stretching still, Dean sits down at the table Castiel has placed breakfast, picks up his coffee and sniffs out his breakfast special. Sam will probably criticize what Castiel bought for Dean, but Castiel will deal with that later.

“Yo—u st—ay out… all ni—ght?” Dean asks through a mouthful of food.

Picking up his own cup of coffee—black, no sugar—Castiel takes a seat on the edge of Sam’s bed. “Yes. I did not require rest.”

Swallowing, Dean raises an eyebrow. “But… where?”

“I sat on the roof of the motel and watched the night sky.”

Dean looks at him like he’s grown two extra heads to compliment his existing ones. “You sat on the roof all night?”

“It’s far easier to do that here than at the Bunker.”

“Did anyone _see you?_ ”

Castiel shrugs. “Their lack of sobriety made it difficult for them to see me.”

“But somebody could have seen you?”

Taking a calm sip of his coffee, the temperature tolerable by Castiel’s standards, he gives Dean a “so what” look. “If anyone did, neither the manager nor the police were called. Everything was and still is fine.”

Dean, giving up on the discussion, opens the white polystyrene box with his breakfast and grins at Castiel. “You shouldn’t have, Cas.” Dean grabs a plastic fork and starts to tuck in.

Inside the box is a combination of sausages, eggs, potato hash, mushrooms, country ham and other breakfast foods. Castiel had seen it on the specials board and decided that it sounded like the kind of thing Dean would eat. “You’re… welcome.”

Drinking some more of his coffee, Castiel waits on Sam’s bed and his preternatural hearing picks up on a sound that he had not expected to hear. The bathrooms in the Bunker and the building’s own magical design elements mean that Castiel is not normally party to what Sam or Dean do in there.

But here in this motel there is no mistaking the sounds that Castiel can now hear emanating from the bathroom. His vessel’s mouth goes dry and Castiel’s face goes red. Back when he had his wings and had learned a degree of social decorum: he would have flown away from Sam or Dean had they been engaged in the activities he was now hearing. And now Castiel can’t fly, but he also can’t bring himself to get his legs to work, make his excuses and just run. All he can do is sit there on Sam’s bed, looking dumb and flushed as Sam jerks himself off in the shower next door.

_Is… this part of the clarity that Sam had last night? He must know that his current actions are not secret. That I can—_

“I know you can hear me, Cas,” Sam whispers in the bathroom for only Castiel to hear. “Wish it was you touching me right now, hand working me tight and hard. Bet those hands of yours can do amazing things.” Sam’s words are replaced by the wet slip and slide of flesh on flesh, and stuttered breaths.

Rearranging himself on the bed a little, Castiel tries to casually sip some more coffee as Dean eats, mere feet away from him. There is no denying the effect that Sam’s bathroom antics are having on Castiel, but he is not going to let Dean find out that he currently has a hard on. He won’t let Dean know what he can hear. What he can imagine in perfect detail.

 _But why is this even happening now? How did we progress from… from stolen touches while binge watching_ Daredevil _to the display currently happening?_ _This is so much more than a kiss, but he is not bewitched… I do not understand._ Castiel sneaks a glance at Dean and wishes he could talk to the older Winchester about this.

Dean puts his fork down and looks towards the bathroom door. “You better not be using all the damn hot water!” he shouts.

Dean’s shouts cover up Sam just as Sam comes and Castiel takes a deep shuddering breath, unable to completely hide what is happening to him. He wants to go into that bathroom and… and… _This cannot be normal. This physical pull._

“You okay, Cas?” Dean asks in between sips of coffee.

“Yes, I am fine.” Castiel shifts on his spot again and rubs his palms down his thighs. Tries to hide his erection. In the shower Sam is just finishing up and turning the water off.

Castiel tries to just focus on the carpet as Sam finally gets out of the bathroom, a towel around his waist, droplets of water clinging to his toned chest. The anti-possession tattoo is clear on his lightly tanned skin. Hair hanging thick and wet around his face. Sam shares a look with Castiel that makes him gulp, the desire and want behind it clear to everyone but Dean.

“Alright, you better have left some damn hot water, Sammy,” Dean says, getting up, breakfast finished. He grabs his towels and heads into the bathroom, oblivious to whatever is going on between Sam and Castiel, locking the door behind him.

Sam stares at Castiel, and then he rushes at him, pushing him down onto the bed in one swift move, sending Castiel’s now empty coffee cup flying. Pinned against the bed, Castiel looks up at Sam’s hazel eyes and sees no signs of befuddlement. All he sees is lust and—

“Sam!” Castiel hisses as Sam reaches a hand down between them and opens Castiel’s flies and zipper.

“Can’t leave you in this state, Cas,” Sam almost purrs and then slides down Castiel’s body, unpinning him. He pulls Castiel’s now aching erection out of his boxers and dress slacks. Pushing himself up on the backs of his arms, Castiel regards Sam as he holds Castiel’s length. It’s not a hard grip, but seeing Sam look like he wants to devour him? Castiel realizes that maybe he doesn’t completely care that Sam’s gone from 0 to 60 in such a short time.

Nerves tense with anticipation, Castiel swallows and asks, “Are you… sure?”

Sam’s reply is to take Castiel’s cock into his mouth in one go, gag reflex apparently not an issue. The sudden wet, smooth, writhing heat of Sam’s mouth sucking and licking over his cock elicits a whimper from Castiel. There is nothing in Castiel’s memories that he can compare this with. Sam sliding down and undulating his tongue along the underside of Castiel; pulling up and pressing his tongue against Castiel’s slit: nothing to compare it to. Not even anything from Jimmy’s memories.

Aware that Dean is right next door and could finish showering at any moment, Castiel hopes that Dean does not walk in on this. All the thoughts that Castiel would normally have running around, all the sensations beyond the immediacy of his body, that his grace would make him aware of, are but the quiet buzzing of bees. The only thing he can focus on is what is happening to his vessel as Sam comes up again and pops Castiel out of his mouth.

“Wanted to do this for so long,” Sam half whines and then proceeds to tease the tip of his tongue under the head of Castiel’s cock. Making his body sing with nerve pulses as pleasure ripples through him, tightening his stomach muscles and making him chase his breaths. Sam swallows him again, swollen red lips slipping down Castiel’s length.

Unable to speak, Castiel tries to resist the urge to just fuck his hips up towards Sam’s mouth. The need is so great, his muscles tremble with the effort of not giving in as Sam swirls his tongue over and over his tip.

On an academic level, Castiel suspects this is all too much and too fast, having Sam fellate him on the bed of their motel room when he only kissed him for the first time the previous night. Still, he can’t bring himself to care as his pulse quickens and his vessel’s natural reactions to Sam’s stimulations continue to intensify.

The boy with the demon blood is blowing Castiel while the righteous man takes a shower in the next room. It’s almost unbelievable, for Castiel. Until Sam’s wicked mouth slides down one more time, and Castiel feels a pull from somewhere around his navel, and he comes down Sam’s throat, Castiel’s climax sneaking up on him before he knew quite what was happening to him.

Collapsing against the bed, arms suddenly feeling weak, Castiel tries to catch his breath. The bed dips and then Sam’s on him, kissing him and he can taste himself on Sam’s mouth. Salt and musk. Hands flying up to cradle Sam’s head, Castiel enthusiastically kisses the younger Winchester. Warmth and looseness from his orgasm giving away to affection.

Kissing for several minutes, Sam finally pulls away and tucks Castiel back inside his clothes. Somehow there’s no sign of what happened on Castiel’s dress slacks. Watching Sam get properly dried and dressed, Castiel comes back to himself enough to ask out loud, “What is this?”

Hand stilling from toweling his hair, Sam turns round and puts a hand on the waist of his jeans. “This is something I—we—should have done a long time ago.”

Castiel clutches at those words and they meet with a longing in his chest that he doesn’t remember feeling so keenly before. A longing to be with Sam in a way that’s more than just being friends. He wonders how long Sam has truly felt this way, but he still can’t help worrying that this might be some kind of curse or spell.

“What happened at the casino last night, when you were gone for so long?” Castiel asks, voice cracking a little.

Sam pulls on a t-shirt and then starts looking around for a shirt. “I… I saw a fortune teller. I wouldn’t normally go in for that sort of thing. I had questions about you, about us.

“You know we’ve been cuddling for the last few weeks while watching stuff? Cuddling whenever I have a bad dream. And I wondered, like some teenager, if there was something there, between us, that is more than what you share with Dean.”

“Oh...” Cas replies lamely and then follows up with no real return to form, “fortune tellers do not tend to be real psychics, Sam. They would not be able to give you the insight you craved.”

“I know,” says Sam, finding a blue plaid shirt. He sits down on the bed beside Castiel. “But there was something about this guy that just seemed like he knew what he was doing. Like he might have been the real deal.”

“How could you tell?”

Sam throws his arms up in the air. “I don’t know. It was just a feeling. But it seems to have been the right feeling, because he told me you liked me back and that I should try for you, because you _more_ than like me.” Twisting beside Castiel so that he can face him, Sam reaches a hand out for Castiel’s cheek and strokes it so tenderly. “You do, don’t you?”

The shower shuts off in the bathroom.

Looking into those pleading hazel eyes, it is impossible for Castiel to deny the magnitude of feelings that he has for Sam. “More than I knew possible.”

Bathroom door opening, Sam suddenly springs away from Castiel and starts packing his things.

Dean steps back into the room, towel around his waist and asks, “Did I miss something?”


	2. Chapter 2

“Why are you and Dean not stopping to sleep?” Cas asks Sam. A loud snore erupts from Dean before he settles down again, still fast asleep on the back seat of the Impala.

“I dunno. Maybe he wants his mattress. Maybe he finally wants to get back to researching how to deal with the Darkness?” Sam replies, the stress held in his shoulders travelling down his arms.  Sam’s hands tighten on the wheel for two reasons: one being that he hasn’t told anyone about his weird vision in Superior not long after the Darkness was released, which he is trying to forget ever happened; two being that he’s next to Cas. Sam tries to focus on the road. He’s not finding it difficult to concentrate because he’s tired it’s hard because Cas is sat across from him and he can’t do anything.

Or he could, but Dean would probably wake up if the car started to swerve. Okay, not probably, would most definitely wake up, shout and yell at him. And once they’re safely on the side of the highway, proceed to a) ask Sam what the hell he is doing and b) make indistinguishable noises from having seen him and Cas… Well, actually “b)” might come first, and Sam’s unsure if that starts whether they’d even make it to “a)”.

This is about a million miles away from just being simply awestruck like on their first meeting all those years ago, in some motel as the apocalypse marched towards them. And maybe Sam saw things heading this way, but since Dean almost reaped him back in that bar not so long ago, things have gotten intense pretty fast. Yes, yes—it’s Sam that’s wrenched forward whatever schedule him and Cas had been dancing around for years. It’s just—he hasn’t yearned for anyone this much since Amelia.

He hasn’t ever felt this strongly for another guy. But that fortune teller back in Atlantic City… It was like talking to Missouri or Pamela—he seemed so certain that if Sam just made a move, just took what he wanted, Cas (not that he’d told the fortune teller his friend’s name) would reciprocate. Kissing Cas back in the casino was like some fire had been lit inside of him and if he didn’t at least touch Cas again soon he would combust. Burn himself to a cinder. After waiting for so long, letting the embers just stay warm, fanning the flames had created such an intense desire that Sam isn’t sure what to do.

Clawing his attention back to the road, Sam notes the deepening blue sky as the sun starts to set. The clouds look like the seafoam he’d seen only that morning while on his run. He tries to think more closely on his run, but finds it difficult to remember it in any detail. Had he jogged beside the waves as the tide came in, the spray wetting his hair? It had been wet with saltwater when he’d returned to the motel—hadn’t it?

“Sam, are you alright?” Cas asks, snapping Sam away from his thoughts.

“Uh, sure. Yes… Did I have wet hair when I came back from my run this morning?” Sam blurts out.

Sam doesn’t need to look across at Cas to know that the angel is tilting his head at Sam in that way he does, eyes squinting in his way of saying “what the fuck?” without actually saying it. It’s usually Dean who gets treated to it. But he knows Cas is doing just that.

“Actually, now that you mention it, you did have wet hair upon your return.”

 _Why the hell was my hair wet?_ “Huh, okay…”

“Not that I… regret recent events, Sam,” says Cas, voice dropping, “but you do seem different.”

“Different how?” Sam tries not to think that maybe he’d pushed things too far too fast, going from kisses to quick blowjobs in under a day.

There’s a long pause from Cas. He’s truly deliberating how to word his answer and Sam thinks something is seriously up, but then Cas suddenly says, “You seem more virile of late… More like your old self.”

Sam’s unsure how to respond to that and settles on, “That’s good, right?”

There’s an audible shrug from Cas. “These are good things,” Cas replies, like there’s a “but” and he doesn’t want to say it.

“C’mon, Cas, what else?”

“Did you do something different with your hair?”

The road ahead is empty. Sam sneaks a look at himself in the rearview mirror. He can’t get a good enough look at his hair to see what Cas is going on about. It just looks the same as usual from what he can see. Nothing special, nothing amazing, just his usual hair that Dean—if given enough of a chance and didn’t fear he’d be missing an arm after—would try to cut in Sam’s sleep.

“I haven’t done anything different with my hair.”

“Then you are just looking better than usual,” Cas says simply, making Sam’s chest tighten. The compliment makes Sam want to stop the car and do things that he really shouldn’t do with his brother asleep on the backseat.

Sticking to the road, Sam offers Cas a quick smile and lamely says, “Thanks.”

Silence returns, only broken by Dean’s occasional snoring, and the gentle rumble of the Impala’s engine. _Maybe Cas is just noticing… me more?_ Sam rationalizes. _I suppose it’s difficult not to notice someone when they… did what I did in the shower this morning_ _and you’re an angel who has preternatural abilities for sound and… and why the hell are we driving back to the Bunker in one go?_

Snatching a glance at Dean’s prone form on the back seat, Sam returns his gaze to the road and sighs. Last night had been a break from all the crap that had been going on. They hadn’t had a breakthrough on the Darkness in weeks; they needed the chance to just have a few drinks and kick back for a few hours without having to think about everything.

Yeah, last night had been a chance to kick back and Sam had taken that chance. He feels fantastic about finally being truthful with Cas and nervous as hell, because he’s not sure what he should say to Dean about it. He really doesn’t enjoy lying to Dean. He knows that the sooner he tells his brother about what’s going on, then the less likely Dean will go all big brother and be an ass about it all.

“Cas,” Sam whispers.

“Yes?”

“We tell Dean once we get back to the Bunker.”

The angel doesn’t reply, just nods knowingly beside him.

***

Sam’s in the backseat of the Impala, asleep, when they finally roll into the garage at the Bunker.

“Rise and shine Sleeping Beauty, we’re back,” Dean drawls before opening his door and making Sam shiver from the rush of chilled air. Stretching best he can, Sam opens his eyes and looks around the car to be greeted by Cas’s watchful eyes from the front seat.

Blinking, Sam sits up, opens the door nearest Cas and climbs out at the same time as the seraph. Dean’s already grabbed his stuff and is marching into the Bunker.

“No movie marathons without me,” Dean calls over his shoulder. “See ya in five hours.” And then Sam’s brother is gone, heading in the direction of his own room and the comfort of his bed.

Sam’s just spent the last five hours asleep on the backseat, so he doesn’t feel that tired. He looks to Cas and then at the back of the Impala. There’s weapons that could be cleaned, or stripped down and reassembled. Heading to the trunk, Sam picks up what they used on the hunt and passes some of it to Cas as he comes round to see what Sam is doing.

“Think you can help?” Sam asks.

“Of course.”

There’s a voice in Sam’s head screaming at him, asking him why he isn’t dragging Cas off to his bedroom and doing everything that his body has been begging for over the last twenty or so hours. But the reasonable part of Sam, the part of him that is disciplined and in control right now is making it clear that if he and Cas sort out the weapons now, Dean will be more amiable when they do try talking to him.

Heading into the kitchen, Sam pulls out some old newspaper from a cupboard and sets it down on the table. Pulling out cloths, brushes and oil, Sam sets Cas up at one end of the table with the three machetes they took with them. He doesn’t need to tell Cas what to do, the angel’s helped them enough times after a hunt.

While Cas gets on with the machete cleaning, Sam gets some laundry on, or rather spends fifteen minutes using an ammonia mix to tackle blood stains and then puts the laundry on. He would normally leave this to Dean, but again he hopes that he can put his brother in a good mood before saying anything about recent events. It isn’t like Sam could solve the tiny issue of the Darkness by the time Dean wakes up, so he sticks with the small things.

Like heading back into the kitchen and stripping down the few handguns and shotguns they’d used while clearing out that vamps’ nest. Perfectly small, valid, helpful things that might just stop Dean’s radar from assuming that something was up. Sam wants to sweeten him up, but not sugar coat him. Pie would be a step too far, for instance.

Cas is taking his time on the blades, but they hadn’t been cleaned well after the last time they were used and need a lot more work than usual. Sitting beside Cas, Sam works on the guns, the cold metal familiar in his hands while the increasing pounding of his heart feels alien, because he’s not scared. It’s not like the rush from staring death in the face. Sam doesn’t understand why his body is acting like it’s ten years younger, and unable to handle a crush.

 _I’m just trying to clean some guns, I’ve sat beside Cas before. Sure we kissed and I blew him, but get a grip!_ Sam lets out a long breath in attempt to steady himself, and it works.

For all of three seconds. Sam puts down the gun he’s finished oiling and turns to Cas. The angel is just putting down the final machete blade as Sam turns to him.

“Yes,” Cas mirrors him, “Sam?”

Licking his lips—and hell, Sam catches Cas tracking the movement—Sam asks, “If you’re done we could—”

Sam’s broken off by Cas leaning in and kissing him solidly on the lips. Nerves fading, Sam kisses back and whines in the back of his throat as Cas teases his mouth open. Tongue flitting between his lips and tasting him—it makes Sam ache for more. Cas smells like a thunderstorm that’s yet to hit, he smells like ozone, and Sam’s skin is tingling all over.

Warmth spreads through his body, Sam gasps into Cas’s mouth as the angel brings a hand up behind his neck. He’s pulled closer, to the edge of his seat, each kiss from Cas telling him that all those feelings he’s had have been mutual. Wanton need flares inside of him, and Sam goes from letting Cas lead to shifting their positions, biting at the angel’s neck and drawing a hiss out of Cas.

But Cas doesn’t stop him, just holds Sam closer as he sucks and bites. There’s going to be a noticeable hickey on Cas’s neck, but neither seems to care. Wetly pulling away, Sam grabs at Cas and pulls the both of them up from their seats before pushing the angel down on the table so he’s sat— _sprawled_ —beside the weapons. Legs spread. Eyes dark. Lips parted. Sam could just eat him up.

So he does. Slotting in between Cas’s legs and kissing him hard, hands wandering all over Cas’s back. Dipping down to the the angel’s ass cheeks. Pulling him closer so they’re grinding, clothed cocks pressing against each other and— _is gun oil… no, we need to get to my room… Just_ —

A metallic clang rings through the room as a metal mug hits the floor and bounces along it for several feet. Hurried footsteps rush away from the kitchen.

 _Dean!_ Sam pulls back from kissing Cas, breathing fast and hard as he stares around the kitchen but all he can see out of place is the mug that Dean’s dropped. He’s about to stand away from Cas when Dean suddenly storms back into the kitchen and points a finger at them.

Mouth slightly agape, Dean jabs his finger towards them as he stays stood on the other side of the kitchen. Sam is equally shocked and doesn’t move away from Cas, body frozen by Dean’s shocked stare.

Speechless, Dean continues to point and stare, speech gone, before shaking his head and storming off again.

“I think he knows,” Cas deadpans.

Sam rubs at the back of his neck and sighs. “Well… at least the first part of the conversation is taken care of.”

Dozens of worried thoughts crowd into Sam’s mind. He expected some kind of verbal reaction from Dean, not opened mouth staring. Though he hadn’t been planning on Dean finding out by seeing them one step away from fucking on the kitchen table.

But the one thought he keeps ignoring, as it sits there right at the back, is the one that points out: _this isn’t like you_.

***

Heavy make out session postponed, Sam and Cas tidied up the kitchen and tried to go on as if nothing had happened. There was no point in trying to talk to Dean straight away, as far as Sam could tell he wasn’t going to listen. At least not while Metallica is being blasted from some ancient turntable in his room.

Instead Sam does what he can: gets some food from a diner in town and leaves it outside Dean’s room, letting him know via text that it’s there. Check emails and cells to make sure no one, like Jody, has sent a case their way. Digs around some books and scrolls for information on the Darkness.

Getting nowhere while looking for information on the Darkness, Sam starts distracting Cas with his tongue. Cas pulls Sam up onto a library desk so he can pen him in and press against him, shifting their light make out session to something far heavier, and on the fast track to having sex in the library. Feeling light headed as Cas fucks his tongue into Sam’s mouth, Sam can’t help the keening sound he makes in the back of his throat. Fighting to think rationally, Sam tries to get Cas to stop so they can move to his room. Instead there’s more hurried footsteps and a door slamming somewhere in the distance.

That makes Cas break off from his kisses and teasing hips. “Dean…”

“Should I go talk to him?” Sam asks, trying to ignore his wilting erection.

Cas shakes his head. “He’s moved onto Motörhead, I don’t believe now is a good time to try talking to him.”

“Maybe we should back off from the public make out sessions?”

The angel flashes Sam a disappointed glance, but nods in agreement. “It would seem the best choice, for now at least.”

“Do you think he… he resents this?”

“No,” Cas looks away from Sam as if searching for answers, “he’s just being Dean.”

Sam chuckles nervously and Cas backs away from him. It makes sense. There’s probably a million thoughts wandering through Dean’s head right now, _like how long? Why didn’t I see this coming? Why didn’t they tell me? Why didn’t he tell me he’s… what, bi? Have they fucked? Have they fucked in Baby? Are they… gonna leave?_ Yeah Sam could imagine just what Dean would be thinking while listening to loud music and drinking whatever booze he was holed up with in his room.

There’d be happiness, probably, later. But Sam’s not holding out for a quick conclusion. Sure, Dean had been happy when Sam had banged that chick in the Impala a few weeks ago. But a few weeks ago Sam had been predictable as far as Dean was concerned. When was the last time Sam had had a serious conversation about his lovelife with Dean? A conversation that wasn’t tainted by the memories of Jess or Amelia? Or Madison?

“Sam?” Cas asks, looking at him with concern.

“It’s nothing.”

“You’re worried about Dean still.”

Nodding, Sam refuses to say anything else on it. “C’mon, I’m sure there’s something we haven’t watched on Netflix.”

They head back to Sam’s room. Settling on _Bojack Horseman_ , Sam finds himself reminded of his and Dean’s brief stint in Hollywood, all those years ago, as they dealt with a haunting on a film set. He tells Cas about it and they laugh at what had been Dean’s obsession with mini-Philly cheese steak sandwiches.

At some time Sam must fall asleep, because he wakes up with a blanket tucked around him and Cas re-watching _The Wire_.

***

Dean avoids them for three days. Books go missing from the library and are then returned. The coffee maker will fill the hallways with the scent of brewing coffee, but when Sam gets to the kitchen, there’s no sign that Dean had been there bar the dripping coffee maker. The Impala will sometimes not be in the garage. Classic rock or metal will play from the other side of Dean’s closed bedroom door.

On the fourth day, Sam sends a text to Dean asking if he wants to talk. But he gets nothing back, so he spends the morning researching with Cas and getting nowhere. By the afternoon, he’s restless, so he tells Cas he needs a break and heads down to the training room. The training room is just an empty space with some floor mats, punch bags and a Muk Yan Jong (for martial arts practice).

He’s alone when he starts, dressed in some sweats and a tank top. Starting with some stretches, Sam gets warmed up and then heads over to the lacquered wood of the Muk Yan Jong, and assumes a starting stance. Muscle memory drives his forearms and hands as he batters the wooden dummy with an assortment of Kung Fu moves.

Most of their fights almost always turn into brawling, but Sam also has some genuine fighting skill. He just doesn’t get to use it often. Arms thudding between the wooden bars, Sam loses himself to practicing form, the sound of his arms thudding against the dummy filling the air. He doesn’t think, just focuses as he repeats move after move, flowing from one hit to another.

“Sam?” Cas calls in a tone that says it’s not the first time he’s called Sam’s name.

Arms stilling, chest heaving and sweat trickling down his back, Sam turns and faces Cas. “Yeah?”

And it’s hard not to miss how Cas looks him up and down, taking in the sight of him. He doesn’t miss Cas adjusting himself in a pair of gray sweats he’d borrowed. The angel’s gaze draws Sam in and before Cas can say anything more, Sam’s on him and kissing him up against a wall. Hands sliding up under the t-shirt Cas swiped from his drawers.

They’d been toning it down since Dean had walked in on them last, three days ago. But having Cas check him out and making it clear that he likes what he sees? That look went straight to Sam’s dick and he’s seriously wondering how quickly they can get back to his room.

Then Cas is pushing him away and spinning him around, switching their positions. Pinned against the wall, Sam moans as Cas nips at his collarbone and he can’t help rolling his hips against the angel’s. That gets him a growl from Cas and Sam does it again. Cas responds by seizing Sam’s lips with his own and fucking his tongue into his mouth.

It’s not that Sam ever expected Cas to kiss like someone inexperienced and unversed in the matters of physical affection, but Sam’s a little surprised by just how needy and demanding Cas can be. But it’s a good kind of surprise, especially when Cas pulls Sam’s aching cock out of his sweats and starts stroking him right there in the training room.

Sam can’t ignore the cheap thrill he feels at defiling the space with Cas. The needy whimpers and cries Cas is wringing out of Sam as his hand strokes him just seem to drive Cas on. Fear of discovery seeming to be non-existent, Cas pulls back from kissing Sam’s mouth and slides down his body. It’s obvious where Cas is heading.

“Th-ought we were… backing off from public displays of affection?” Sam whimpers.

Lust filled azure eyes glare back up at Sam and before he can say anything else, Cas sucks him down, right hand squeezing the base of his cock. The warm, velvety heat of Cas’s mouth is impossibly good, and what little Sam had been holding back disappears now as Cas works him. Sam grunts and gasps, cries and shakes. Cries even louder when Cas shifts Sam’s right hand into his hair, signalling for him to take control.

Gripping tight, Sam starts to fuck into Cas’s mouth, making the angel happily moan around his cock, the vibrations going straight through him. Cas’s free hand tugs his sweats and boxers down further, and there’s the sound of a cap being removed. Before Sam can quite figure out what is going on, Cas has a lubed finger pressing up against Sam’s asshole, like it’s the most natural thing for him to be doing and Sam rolls with it.

There’s a little resistance and burn as Cas presses his finger inside of Sam, but it’s soon gone. Sam’s panting hard and heavy as the angel seems to expertly find his prostate and caress it a few times, bringing Sam dangerously close to coming there and then.

Another needy whine out of Sam has Cas backing off, the angel instead slowly works on opening him up, working the first finger in and out of him before adding a second and then eventually a third. Impossibly full, nose filled with the scent of his own musk tinged with an edge of ozone, Sam fucks himself on Cas’s mouth and fingers, not quite sure what he’d done to deserve Cas being this possessive.

Fingers sliding out of him and mouth gone, Sam groans as Cas pulls away and he sees just how much Cas is aching for him. The angel’s borrowed sweats are tented over his erection.

“Do you want me, Sam?” Cas asks, voice thick.

 _Of course I do!_ “Yes,” Sam replies.

Cas pulls his sweats and t-shirt off, and then helps Sam finish getting undressed. Sam follows Cas’s lead as the angel lays down on the floor, atop a practice mat, legs spread out. A bottle of lube appears from somewhere and Cas lubes his length up. Cas holds his hands out for Sam and he climbs over him and straddles his hips. Sam leans down and kisses the angel as he shuffles down Cas’s body until he feels the tip of the angel’s cock pushing up between his cheeks. Reaching behind himself, Sam holds Cas’s hard length and gently pushes it inside himself. Slowly sliding down.

The stretch is a degree more than Cas’s fingers, but once Cas bottoms out inside Sam they both happily moan. Cas’s hands rest on Sam’s thighs, holding him in place and letting him adjust. Cas’s hands swiftly move, encouraging Sam to lift himself up and slide back down, leaving them both gasping with the drag of pleasure.

Sam’s hardly given a chance to get use to this position before Cas surges up and uses his strength to shift them. Sam’s legs are wrapped around the top of Cas’s hips and Cas is sat underneath him. Cas smiles up at Sam his sure hands gripping Sam’s ass cheeks, and Sam surges into a kis as he holds onto Cas’s muscled shoulders.

Rolling his hips, Sam moans as Cas’s length rubs up against the sensitive bundle of nerves inside him, shooting pleasure throughout his body, intensified further by the friction of his cock against Cas’s stomach. Cas helps lift Sam up a little and then brings him back down as they fuck, drawing more cries out of the both of them.

Somewhere in the back of Sam’s mind he’s realizing this is their first time together like this. Just as he does, Cas whispers something against Sam’s lips and rocks with Sam at the same time. The words continue to ghost against Sam’s lips as the heat of how they began turns into something so much more. Bodies moving in unison, ecstasy building, Sam tries to catch what Cas is saying as he bucks on his lap, speared over and over.

The words are Enochian. Sam catches “in” and “hoath” and “amiran”. Mine. Love. Yours. And many other words that Sam doesn’t quite hear or understand as he pants and moans atop Cas.

“Fuck… Cas… I love you too,” Sam whimpers against Castiel’s lips as he drives down onto the angel’s dick one last time, tipping himself over the edge and sparking his orgasm. He bucks and shudders, come shooting up between them as his vision whites out for a moment.

It’s enough to set Cas off and he shouts, “Sam!” as he thrusts up into Sam’s oversensitized hole one last time. Filling Sam, hips jerking underneath him. Cas’s hands fly from Sam’s ass and curl around Sam’s torso, pulling him impossibly close. They ignore the stickiness left and Sam nuzzles his face to the side of Cas’s neck as they remain on the training mat, world slowly coming back to them.

Eventually, Sam remembers he has legs and Cas helps him untangle their limbs. His ass hurts a little, but he’s smiling as he helps Cas get dressed, smirking when Cas attempts to help him and tries to get him to put his boxers on the wrong way round.

Once showered and dressed in fresh clothes, Sam and Cas head into town to grab something to bring back and eat. Upon their return, Sam’s not shocked to find Bad Company being loudly blasted inside Dean’s room. He leaves a brown paper bag containing Dean’s favorite burger from the nearest diner, fries and a slice of apple pie. He places a few chilled bottles of beer beside it too. Sam texts Dean about the food and returns to Cas to eat his own meal.

Sam hopes Dean will start talking to him again this century.

***

Between the training room and the bathrooms, there’s a room that hardly ever gets used. Like many in the Bunker, it took Dean and Sam some time to discover it. But the hydrotherapy room is in working order. It’s just a pain to use and so even though they could probably do with using it after the odd hunt—when their limbs are sore and aching, ribs crying from being abused—they rarely do.

Gray tiles cover the floor and walls. While the small pool set into the floor is tiled with light blues. The oval pool takes an age to fill, so Sam sits beside the edge, legs crossed and waits as water is pumped in. There’s an empty can of salt lined up against one wall that Sam doesn’t remember bringing in, nor pouring the contents of said can into the pool. And if asked, he would have sworn that he cranked the hot water valve open.

Half an hour and the pool, twelve feet by six, six feet deep, is full. Sam strips his clothes off and steps into the cold water, the shock of the temperature making him question what he’s doing for a moment. He didn’t expect the water to be cold, but it is and so he tries to climb up the ladder and get back out.

Grabbing onto the metal runners of the ladder, Sam starts to haul himself out of the freezing water, but his legs aren’t moving. Or rather he can’t feel his legs. Starting to freak out, body shivering, Sam looks down into the water, turning and flexes his lower body.

A fish tail, striped red and white, spines and fins furling around it, splashes in the water and Sam stares down at the limb in dumb shock. He can feel the water caressing the tail, shifting the tiny scales upon it.

“What the hell?” Sam murmurs, trying so very hard not to freak out as he realizes that he’s stopped shivering.

He flexes the tail and it splashes in the water again. _Oh God._

There’s a loud knock at the door to the therapy room.

“Sam, you in there?” calls Dean.

“Yes!” Sam shouts back, trying to hide the panic in his voice.

“Look, I’m gonna talk at you and you’re gonna listen,” Dean talks through the door.

“Okay.” _Fuck, what do I do?_ Sam panics. _Where the damn tail come from and… and how do I get rid of it?_

“I know I’ve been an ass since we got back and I… I saw you and Cas _together_. And then saw you together again later and I freaked the fuck out. And pretty much failed to act like a mature adult.

“Believe me when I tell you that I’m happy for the two of you. I didn’t realize that you were, uh, that close. And maybe I should have, what with all that time you’ve been spending together in your room—

“But that’s none of my business! You’re obviously together and very into each other. Especially if all the shouting I heard earlier is, um, anything to go by.” Sam can almost hear the blush that must be on Dean’s face.

Normally Sam would laugh at that, but right now he’s desperately trying to figure out what to do with himself. He doesn’t remember running into any witches, _and since when has cursing people into mermen been a thing?_

“So, um, I guess I’m saying sorry. And that tomorrow I’ll try to be less of a dick. Say hi. Talk. Be your big brother.

“But Sam, you don’t have to hide this kind of thing from me. I think it’s cool you’re, um, bisexual. If you ever need to talk to me about anything, I’m here for you, okay. Alright, um, I’ll leave you to your bath salts. G’night.”

There’s the sound of creaking wood as Dean climbs to his feet and uses the door to steady himself. What Dean’s said is slowly sinking in and Sam feels better for a moment until he remembers he’s half fish.

“Think logically, Sam. Alright, this happened when I got into the water. So maybe if I get out, I’ll change back?” Sam looks to the ladder again, but realizes that it’s going to be pointless trying that.

Instead, Sam floats over to one of the longer sides of the pool and grips the ledge that runs all the way around the pool, but on the side nearest the towels. Counting to three he braces himself and pulls himself out of the water, rolling onto his side as he gets out of the water.

“Okay, please work…” Sam begs quietly as he grabs a towel and starts to dry himself off. It takes a few moments, but then the tail begins to melt away, splitting into two legs and feet. The change stings and Sam grits his jaw as he waits for the fish scales, fins and spines to disappear.

Within a few minutes Sam has two legs again, no fishtail in sight. His eyes glance around the room and he sees the salt can, the kind they normally take on hunts. Unsteadily, he climbs to his feet and goes over to the can, picking it up. He feels its emptiness.

Unsure what else to do, Sam heads over to the control panel for the pool and shifts the exit valve. The water begins to drain away. He finishes drying off and scrambles into his sleep sweats and t-shirt.

Leaving the hydrotherapy room, Sam drops his towels off by the laundry hamper and heads back to his bedroom, where he can still hear Cas watching _Arrested Development_. Sam opens the door and heads inside.

Sam doesn’t quite master his face in time and Cas glances up at him and asks, “Is something wrong, Sam?”


	3. Chapter 3

Waiting for the coffee maker, Castiel listens to the sounds of the Bunker. The distant pressure shifts of pipes; the low hum of the supercomputers in the basement and the near silent burn of bulbs. Dean is taking a shower, but Castiel can’t hear him, thanks to the building’s wards. Sam is somewhere outside on a run and likely to be back soon.

Castiel feels ill at ease as he waits for the coffee. Sam had dodged his questions asking after his welfare the previous night, instead distracting him with a blowjob. It had been a very nice blowjob, but Castiel could tell that there’s something happening with Sam that he’s trying to avoid. That it has something to do with the way Sam’s skin had tasted like salt the night before—not the kind of salt from perspiration—or the youthfulness returning to Sam’s features, the way his hair seems thicker, arms and chest more defined.

Glancing towards the kitchen table, Castiel frowns. There’s an open newspaper on top of it that he hadn’t noticed earlier. He picks up the paper and checks out a story that’s been outlined in red marker.

“Six children missing after visiting Moody Beach, Wells, Maine… no trace of missing children. Authorities report no suspects. Witnesses claim hearing tinkling bells before each child disappeared from the beach… Hmm, looks like a case,” he says to himself, looking the article over.

“What looks like a case?” Dean’s stood in the doorway, dressed for the day, arms crossed and looking at Castiel.

“This article Sam must have circled.” Castiel offers Dean the paper and the older Winchester walks over and takes the story.

Coffee maker ready, Castiel pours cups for himself and Dean, adding minimal sugar to the older Winchester’s cup. He takes it over to Dean, who’s now sat at the table, lost in the article.

“Sure, it could be some kind of sicko, but those bells… that’s more than a bit weird. I’ll run a search on the area after I’ve eaten something.” Dean puts the paper down. “Maybe check if there’s anyone else who can take it first. That’s a twenty-five hour drive.”

Castiel is sipping his coffee, mind focused on its bitter flavors spreading across his tongue. He doesn’t realize that Dean’s been trying to get his attention until Dean is right in his personal space.

“Hey, Cas, I’m talking to you.” Dean frowns.

Snapping his attention away from the coffee, Castiel gives Dean an apologetic look. “I’m sorry.”

“Hey, it’s cool. And it’s cool that you and Sam are… uh… together. I’m sorry I’ve been a bit of a dick… Just I didn’t see this coming. But that doesn’t matter, I’m happy for you. And if you need any advice or anything: don’t hesitate to ask.” Dean offers Castiel a smile and then he backs away. “Well, I better check out this story, see if there’s more than just sand and waves there.”

Tilting his head, Castiel narrows his eyes at Dean. “What about breakfast?”

“I’ll grab a bite once I’ve checked to see if we’ve got a case.” Dean couldn’t back out of the kitchen any faster if he tried.

He’s about to chase after Dean when Castiel hears a cough from behind him. Turning, he sees Sam stood in the doorway, sweat cooling on his skin. Muscles shining under his tank top, all firm and strong. Words die in Castiel’s throat and he’s not sure what to say as Sam walks over to the refrigerator and grabs a bottle of water.

His _boyfriend? Lover? Friend?_ Drains half the bottle before finally saying, “Dean’s looking at the case?”

All Castiel can manage is a simple nod of “yes”. He can’t stop staring at Sam, eyes constantly drawn to his form. It’s not like Sam didn’t look good a week ago, but right now he looks, as he’s heard others say, “good enough to eat”. Castiel sets his coffee down on the table.

“Cas, if you take a photo, it’ll last longer.” Sam gives him a grin and brushes his bangs away from his face.

Swallowing and taking a deep breath, Castiel draws himself up. “I would rather have the real thing.”

Desire sparks in Sam’s eyes. Castiel doesn’t have a chance to ready himself for Sam rushing him and slamming him against the side of the table. “You have the real thing,” Sam confirms and eagerly kisses Castiel, mouth teasing, body wanting.

Breaking for breath, Sam steps back and finishes the water, eyes on Castiel as the seraph adjusts his clothes. The gaze Sam treats him to is filled with want and concern, Castiel can tell that Sam isn’t sure about what he’s just done, whether it was okay to just do that. It is strange how not so gentle their intimate interactions are, they just seem to slide past soft touches and go into charged grabbing and groping.

“Sam, I enjoy being with you,” Castiel reassures without context.

A confused look settles over Sam’s features and then he seems to realize that Castiel understands his unspoken concerns. “I enjoy being with you too, Cas. Still, you have to admit, this is, uh, pretty intense what we have going on here.”

Nodding, Castiel picks up his coffee and sips at it. “It is like a pot that’s boiling over. The pressure’s too much, pushing the contents past the pot’s lid.”

“Yeah, like that.”

Castiel decides to change the topic. “What do you believe is lurking at Moody Beach and taking those children?”

“I don’t know any sea monsters that have bells on them. But that kind of… detail is pretty weird, seems out of place if they were just drownings? Maybe a ghost. Though what ghost would have bells and be by a beach, again, no idea. I suppose it could be come kind of water spirit, but I haven’t heard of any that have bells.” Sam heads to the refrigerator again and grabs another bottle of water.

Castiel finishes his cup of coffee and heads over to the coffee maker for another. “Perhaps the bells are just a coincidence? Or perhaps someone has a property near the beach that has a wind chime with bells or similar?”

A small smile comes to Sam’s face, he nods. “Simpler explanations are always better.” Sam opens his water and glugs half the bottle down. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, He gives Castiel a shy glance. “I’m gonna head to the showers, would you go check on Dean and see what he’s found?”

“Of course.”

Sam goes to leave, then rushes back over to Castiel, kisses him gently on the lips and then leaves the kitchen. _So he can be gentle?_ Castiel ponders and heads towards the library.

***

No other hunters—who were still talking to them—were available to take on the case anytime soon, which is never a good thing when innocent people are dying (let alone kids). Dean is the one who says it has to be the three of them, that they can’t wait while more children might die.

The drive to Maine is a long one and Dean refuses to stop, bar for fuel, food and to switch drivers. Wandering hands, heavy make outs and longing gazes accompany Sam and Castiel on their journey east along the I-80 and I-90, with Sam not so surreptitiously pulling Castiel into the back each time it was his turn to take a break from driving. Dean would just turn his music up loud and try to avoid looking in the rear mirror for prolonged periods.

Not that Castiel denies Sam sleep, but it is hard to ignore those long muscular arms and wide searching eyes of Sam’s. Dean mutters more than once that the two of them have it bad. More than once, Dean looks between Castiel and Sam with genuine concern. Castiel can tell what Dean’s thinking when he does this, like he is now as Wells appears on the horizon, the ocean behind it, as Sam kisses Castiel’s neck.

Wood panelled houses, all quaint, and in varying shades of blue, white and pale green appear, basking in the late summer sunshine, but Dean’s more interested in looking back at Sam and Castiel than taking in their surroundings. Dean’s thinking the same things Castiel did that first night Sam and Castiel kissed, that something or someone has bewitched both of them. Catching Dean’s gaze, Castiel gives Dean what he thinks is a look that suggests he knows Dean’s concerns. The hunter nods and focuses back on the road.

The whole area is focused on serving tourists and nowhere looks like it’s in their usual price range. Dean drives through a few streets, slowly getting closer to properties nearer the coast and then seems to spot what he is looking for.

A two storey house sits along a near deserted street, the closest properties twenty yards away. There’s the skeletal remains of an orchard around the house’s perimeter—the property looks like a case in and of itself, with its intimidating gables, and peeling powder blue and white paint.

“Home sweet home,” Dean announces as he pulls the Impala up outside a gated driveway. He puts the car in park and starts getting out.

“This is somebody’s home, Dean,” Sam points out, detaching himself from Castiel and getting out of the car.

Wondering where this is going, Castiel follows the Winchesters out of the car and looks around while Dean picks the lock on the gate.

“Actually, it’s our home for the duration of the case. One of Rufus’s old pals said we could use the place while we tried to find out what’s going on,” Dean explains. The lock pings open and falls to the ground.

“So why isn’t this old pal of Rufus’s working the case?” Sam asks as Dean starts to push the gates open.

“Dude’s in Forks, Washington, so we’re a damn sight closer than he is right now.” The gate shifts under Dean’s hands and there’s a high pitched grind of metal on tarmac. “A little help?”

Castiel turns and helps Dean before Sam does, the two of them quickly get the gate open.

“So if anyone asks?” Sam queries, arms crossed in front of his chest like the property not being some forgotten derelict is going to cramp their squatting style.

Dean rolls his eyes. “If anyone asks, we’re Muriel and Hank’s boys, doing some work on the place for them.”

“This house looks like _it’s_ a case,” Castiel suggests, fully taking in the two storeys and surrounding dead trees.

“Funny you should say that,” says Dean, walking back over to the Impala, “Hank was bequeathed the property from a woman he helped save from a werewolf.”

The three of them get back into the car and go up the driveway to the house, which doesn’t look any better up close and personal. Castiel helps Dean and Sam carry their supplies into the creaking structure, the inside isn’t fairing much better, though at least the floors don’t look like they will collapse under their weight.

Ragged furniture lives under dust sheets and the remaining decor looks like it was done at some point in the 1920’s. The place has a faint hint of mildew, but less than what Castiel had been expecting before stepping inside.

“It’s not the Ritz, but it’s not gonna cost us fortune either.” Dean winks at Sam and Castiel. “But please, guys, try to not pick a room right next to mine, okay?” Dean pleads in a teasing voice.

Sam throws a decrepit newspaper at Dean’s head for that comment and then shoulders his things. “C’mon, Cas.”

Following Sam, the two of them head upstairs—wary of the sweeping staircase that dominates the main hallway—and look for a room that seems salvageable. The third room they check out looks usable. There’s no furniture in it, but there’s glass in the window and the floor seems solid.

“LET THERE BE LIGHT!” Dean shouts from below them and suddenly the room’s fixtures come on, the old bulbs humming to life.

Sam dumps his bags and runs out to the landing. “WE GOT WATER?” Sam shouts down towards wherever Dean is.

“GIVE ME A SEC, SAM… OKAY!” Dean shouts.

Following Sam out onto the landing, Castiel only just reaches him before he runs off in the direction of where they’d seen a bathroom some minutes earlier. Sam throws the door open and Castiel can hear the tight weary thunk of ancient plumbing, squealing pipes and suddenly the surge of water into a basin.

Rushing out of the bathroom as water continues to gush from a faucet, Sam shouts down to Dean. “IT WORKS!” There’s an excitement and giddiness to Sam’s voice and Dean’s responding yell that Castiel hasn’t heard in some time.

There just seems to be something about squatting in an old house and getting things working that sends the two brothers to a point in their lives where they were happier and more carefree. It’s not like there’s cable television or internet at this house, but being able to get things working brings a type of joy to the two Winchesters that Castiel has only ever seen when Dean’s maintaining or fixing his car.

Booted feet head up the stairs and Dean appears on the landing. “Alright, let’s get a few hours, grab some food and then check out the beach.”

Castiel doesn’t get a chance to reply as Sam drags him back into the bedroom.

***

“Meatloaf for table three!” shouts a cook from the kitchen. The diner is bustling with locals and tourists, providing a family friendly atmosphere with just the right level of chatter to find out if there’s been any further developments with the missing children, without heading straight to local law enforcement.

Lips a little swollen and red, Castiel sips a cup of coffee, a barely touched bowl of fries in front of him. Sam’s picking his way through a chicken and low fat caesar salad while checking local news on his laptop via the diner’s WiFi; Dean’s eating a sinfully greasing looking burger, cheese having melted past the bun. When they’d gone to sit at this table, Dean had separated Sam and Castiel, saying something about not wanting anyone to get distracted.

Taking another sip of coffee, Castiel feels a gentle tugging on his long, tan jacket. He turns to face a wide eyed four year old girl, long blonde curls and blue eyes making her look just that touch angelic, she’s dressed for the beach in shorts and t-shirt. But there’s an edge to her gaze that marks her as old before her time.

Quirking his head and frowning Castiel says, “Yes?”

“Mister, why are you colors?” the little girl asks, expression filled with the childlike sincerity of the eternally curious. Her own aura marks her out from her peers in the establishment.

 _Interesting, this girl has preternatural abilities…_ “I am just different to the other adults here.”

“Cas,” Sam pipes up, “everything okay?”

“Yes, everything is fine. Myself and…?”

“Marie,” the little girl provides, a pleased grin on her face.

“Myself and Marie were just talking about how I’m colors.”

That makes Sam share a knowing glance with Dean. Castiel overhears Sam whisper “Oliver Pryce” to Dean.

“You’re different,” Marie declares in a soft voice.

Literally the most pointless thing Castiel can do right now is deny that he is none of the things that Marie has said. Lying to a psychic, child or no, is futile. “Yes I am.”

Marie twists bashfully on the spot and gives the three of them a shy glance. “Are you here about the missing children?”

“Yes we are.”

The little girl leans in closer to their table and stage whispers, “It’s the bells. They hear the bells and they go to them.”

Shuffling a little closer to Marie, Castiel asks, his face completely serious, “But you don’t go towards the bells?”

Shaking her head, curls swaying from side to side, Marie whispers, “No, because _she’s_ ringing them. She’s scary.”

Castiel gives a most serious nod, vaguely aware of some unspoken conversation happening between Sam and Dean. “Marie, what does the scary woman look like?”

Bottom lip trembling, Marie gives Castiel a look that says she’s going to tell him even though she doesn’t want to think about it. “She has scales, like a fish… on her face and arms. Long black hair… and her eyes are white.”

“Thank you, Marie, that’s really helpful,” says Sam, gaze catching on someone behind both Marie and Castiel. “I think your mom is looking for you.”

Gently nodding, Marie gives the three of them a hopeful smile and toddles off to her mother in another corner of the diner. Focusing on the Winchesters, Castiel eats one of his cold fries and instantly regrets his choice.

“Well that was weird.” Dean picks up his cup of coffee and takes a sip.

Castiel picks up his own coffee and is thankful that it is still warm as he takes a drink from it and then puts it down. “Doesn’t sound much like a ghost though.”

“You’d think so,” says Sam and then he turns his laptop around to reveal a website ran by a local historical society, “but sounds quite normal for a person who was a sideshow exhibit during her lifetime.”

The web page shows a black and white photo of a woman fitting Marie’s description. “Hayley Bennett, the Sea Witch of the East,” Castiel reads out loud. “Was she really a witch?”

“And what’s with the damn bells…” Dean mutters to himself stuffing some fries in his mouth.

“Don’t know yet, but she was blind, and it’s conjectured that she suffered from a severe form of what is now called ichthyosis vulgaris,” Sam replies, mouse scrolling down the page. “She worked a sideshow touring the East coast for over a decade until she disappeared one day only for her body to be found a week later. She was later cremated.”

“Let me guess, she disappeared here in Wells.” Dean slumps back in his seat and shakes his head.

“Bingo.”

Castiel frowns. “Why would someone kill her?”

“Don’t know that yet,” states Sam.

Eyes wide with annoyance, Dean shakes his head. “I dunno about you guys, but I don’t think we’ll find anything under water or on a beach, I mean she’s been dead for how long?”

“She’s been deceased for more than ninety years.” Sam turns his laptop back around. “Um, looks like we’re gonna... have to hunt around for something left of hers on land, like a personal belonging,” Sam concludes.

Dean slaps Sam on the back. “Don’t worry Sammy, you won’t have to take a dip. Your hair’ll be fine.”

Swatting Dean away Sam shakes his head, hair flapping about his face. “Let’s just check she was definitely cremated first. Also, maybe we’ll be able to reason with her to stop and move on.”

Dean lets out a half hearted laugh. “How many times has negotiating with an angry ghost ever worked out for us? And then when it has, it was because it was someone who cared for them while they were alive and crap? She’s out there and we have to find her.”

Talk of how to track down Bennett spirals off onto more practical aspects, but Castiel finds himself looking over at Marie on the other side of the diner. The little girl seems happy and content, giggling with her mom like any four year old normally would. No visible weirdness, but Castiel worries just what the future might hold for a child such as her. _Maybe I should suggest to Sam that we keep an eye out for Marie. It would be a shame for her to end up with a life like Oliver Pryce’s or worse_ , Castiel contemplates solemnly.

“Maybe… it’s the bells?” Castiel proposes. But where the bells might be now, Castiel is unsure.

***

Sunset isn’t for a few more hours and Moody Beach is filled with families enjoying the summer sun. There’s little kids building sandcastles; teenagers playing volleyball or throwing footballs around. Despite the disappearances, the beach is bursting with people and Castiel is reminded of Amity in _Jaws_ , which he hasn’t watched, but had the novel dumped in his head by Metatron. He can’t see an increased presence from local law enforcement either, and the beach lifeguards are not numerous.

The three of them don’t look out of place as they walk down the beach, towards the waterline, with the tide slowly going out. The water is an inviting crisp teal and Castiel wishes for a brief human moment that they were there to relax. Dean had pointed out that it would be all sorts of weird if they wore their normal attire down onto the beach and so they are incognito as tourists in long shorts, t-shirts, shades and sandals. Plus Dean still has visible smears of white sunscreen all over his arms, legs, face and neck after Sam had attacked him with a bottle of factor 30.

“This enough sand between your toes?” Sam asks, sandals sinking into the sand.

“Ha, well, yeah I didn’t quite expect it to be like this,” Dean replies, walking in an exaggerated manner to cope with how the sand sucks down on their feet. “It’s been a long time since I was on a beach.”

“I don’t remember ever going to the beach as a kid.” Sam glances over his shoulder and smiles at Castiel. Sam’s voice goes quiet as he adds, “But Jess and I went a few times.”

Reaching out towards Sam, Castiel squeezes the man’s shoulder and then lets go, following the two brothers across the beach.

It had been a little complicated storing some weapons on their person, but at least Castiel’s long shorts had pockets deep enough for his angel blade. An assortment of necessary items were also packed away in a beach bag hanging from Sam’s left shoulder. Walking behind Sam as they make their way to the water, Castiel can’t help admiring the way Sam’s shorts frame his calves or the curling hairs on the hunter’s legs. Feeling his mind seriously start to wander, Castiel brings his gaze up and focuses on the water they’re approaching.

Reaching the edge of the shore, rocks to their right, Castiel takes a deep breath. They couldn’t possibly walk the length of the beach using the EMF meter, it would be too unlike a metal detector to explain to anyone who might see them—instead Castiel is going to feel for the presence of any paranormal entities in the vicinity. Shaking out his shoulders and cracking his neck, Castiel allows his grace to bubble just that touch closer to the surface of his vessel, enabling his awareness to spread. He’s not as psychic as he use to be, but he can still sense when something isn’t quite right in the threads of existence—feel when a presence or source of power is bending and twisting things in a way it shouldn’t.

Blocking the living from his awareness as best he can, Castiel looks at the world with different eyes. Sam’s aura is glowing a little brighter than usual, but is still its usual blue, so Castiel doesn’t worry himself about its intensity. A glance at Dean shows Castiel that Dean’s aura still has its usual level of redness and satisfied that nothing is amiss there, Castiel turns and begins to lead their march across the shoreline.

Children and adults alike are coming and going from the water, but Castiel manages to avoid them as they creep along the shore, his mind buffeted by the many that surround him, feeling like tiny birds flittering about. He stretches his healing wings in the place they rest between planes of reality and the heat of the sun feels good on them.

“What was that?” Sam queries in a confused voice.

Not turning to face Sam, Castiel’s eyes scan the shore as he asks, “What… did it feel like?”

“A gust of air, but there’s no breeze.”

Dean races in front and walks backwards as they talk. “Wasn’t our ghost was it?”

Smirking and shaking his head, Castiel continues to walk, quickly overtaking Dean. “It was just my wings,” he calls over his shoulder.

“Wait— _your_ wings?” Sam gets closer. “Do you have your wings back?”

Castiel shakes his head and his eyes settle on a spot a couple of hundred yards from where they are. The sun’s light is being refracted in a strange way, making the spot seem more purple that it should be for the current time of day.

“Dude, your wings!” Dean pipes up.

Continuing his march, Castiel sighs and says to the two men as they draw level with him, “My wings are healing. They are not strong enough for me to fly. And before you ask, it is unlikely they will be done healing this century.”

“Oh,” Sam says, sounding hurt.

They reach the spot and Castiel waves his hand over the purple light, fingers brushing through what is a two foot by six foot tall oval radiating up from the sand. Castiel has seen similar phenomenon in places where terrible things have happened recently. If it had been a few hours earlier this part of the sand would have been under water, maybe deep enough for a child to try swimming.

Focusing his grace enhanced awareness on the spot, Castiel feels for any trace of who or what left this mark between this world and the next. He gets a bubble of childlike laughter and the smell of peanut butter brittle; excitement and fear; long summer days and the tinkle of small bells.

“The last victim, they were taken here,” Castiel explains, “he or she, I can’t quite tell, they would have been swimming here and then dragged underwater by one assumes Hayley Bennett. There were bells, not large ones, but tiny. Similar to the ones you think Santa’s reindeer have on their harnesses.”

He gets a flash of pigtails and a pink swimming costume. “ _She_ heard the bells and swam out to them. Then she was gone.”

A warm, steadying hand comes to rest on Castiel’s right shoulder and he’s suddenly drawn back into himself. The hand is Sam’s and Castiel suddenly feels lightheaded, his knees weak as Sam grounds him. Castiel wobbles and suddenly Dean’s at his side helping him stand upright.

“Woah there, Cas, you okay buddy?” Dean asks, concern evident.

Castiel hasn’t exerted himself in this way in quite sometime, his grace still not fully recovered. Having taken so much care not to go too far since he’d retrieved what was left of his own grace, Castiel is surprised he allowed himself to push as far as he just did. Taking a steadying breath, his vessel feeling tense, Castiel frowns and tries to calm the thumping of his heart.

“Sorry, I… haven’t done anything like that in a while. I was unprepared. I will be fine, but I think we have learned all that we can from here today. We should see if we can discover any information that might reveal a remnant of Bennett.”

Sam leans in and gently presses a kiss to Castiel’s cheek. “Okay, we’ll head to somewhere with a WiFi connection and see what else we can dig up.”

“Make it a bar,” Dean adds, “I could really go for a beer.”

***

Despite his keenness on the three of them looking like they belonged on the beach, Dean insisted that they changed back into their regular clothes in a restroom near where they parked the Impala. Now as they head into a nearby bar, Castiel has his trench coat back, despite the summer heat, though Sam and Dean have relented and reduced their usual number of layers.

The t-shirt stretching across Sam’s broad chest is like a taunt, begging Castiel to remove it as they stand at the bar and order a round of beers. Muscles rippling beneath the blue cotton, Castiel is sure that Sam doesn’t know just how beautiful he is and Castiel resolves to let Sam know the next time they’re alone. He stands close to Sam and the hunter brushes their shoulders together, offering the seraph a shy smile as Dean orders their beers and some nuts to go with it.

It’s late afternoon and the bar is half full, the patrons sounding and looking local to the area. There’s the gentle clunking of billiard balls further into the bar and Castiel wonders for the briefest moment whether Dean will try to hustle some pool. Beers and nuts in hand, they walk over to a round table near the pool tables and sit down.

“You may wanna tone it down a little, guys,” Dean offers in a voice only for their ears. Sam’s laptop bag is poised on top of the table, waiting for Sam to get on with research.

But Sam’s right hand is brushing the back of Castiel’s neck, the gesture possessive and intimate, and their thighs are pressing in next to each other. Whatever lightheadedness Castiel had been feeling back at the beach has gone and instead has been replaced by the low embers of desire.

“We’re fine as we are,” Sam quietly replies. Whatever restraint they had had up until now is clearly slipping and Castiel cannot seem to find himself willing or wanting to follow Dean’s advice.

Glancing discreetly around them, Castiel notes several pairs of eyes trained on them, specifically him and Sam; he recognizes several looks of disgust. Two tall, strong looking men, with the sleeves of their plaid shirts rolled up seem to be eyeballing them the most. Their short dark hair curling around their ears and similar facial features suggest they’re brothers, though one has blue eyes while the other has brown.

“Perhaps we should follow Dean’s suggestion.” Castiel tries to ignore the stares.

Sam’s hand slides away from Castiel’s neck and drops to his knee instead, squeezing and massaging it. Every press of Sam’s fingers a suggestion of what he really wants to do to Castiel.

“Christ, you’re worse than a pair of teenagers,” Dean mutters. He picks up his beer and gives it a swig.

One second Sam’s hand is on him and then it’s gone. The younger hunter gets to his feet, as if he can hear something that Dean and Castiel can’t. _But, wait, that sound_ , Castiel thinks as he follows Sam out of the bar, beers and laptop forgotten. Behind them, Dean grabs the laptop and curses as he runs to catch up.

Castiel and Sam are jogging back towards the beach from earlier, Sam leading the way, and the closer they get the louder the tinkle of tiny bells is. Reaching the sand, Sam starts to pull his clothes off, stripping as he runs and Castiel doesn’t quite understand why until he sees a crowd gathered at the water’s edge, now further out than it was on their earlier walk.

“TARA!” screams a woman who Castiel has the sinking suspicion is the mother of a child who’s just been claimed by Bennett’s ghost.

“SAM, WAIT, YOU CAN’T JUST TAKE OFF YOUR CLOTHES!” Dean shouts after his brother, running past Castiel. The seraph focuses his attention back on Sam and sees that the hunter is now completely naked as his bare feet pound across the hot sand towards the waves.

A male lifeguard is searching in the water, but there’s no sign of the child. The crowd gathered at the shore scatters as Sam rushes into them, a few people screaming in shock. Castiel is running now, trenchcoat flying out behind him, trying to catch up with Dean. In the distance, a noise below everything else, is the sound of the bells and Castiel has the awful feeling that once the bells stop ringing, Tara will be no more.

Water slapping at his feet, Sam runs into the surf until it’s up to his thighs and then dives into the water. The lifeguard swims over to where Sam just dived in, clearly looking for Sam and the girl.

A small wave buffets the lifeguard and then the surface of the water is broken by something, but Castiel can’t quite tell what. It almost looks like a red and white striped fin, but it’s gone under the surface again before he can be sure.

“Dammit, Sam!” Dean curses from the edge of the water as he pulls off his own shoes, the laptop dropped on the sand further back near Castiel. Picking up the laptop bag, Castiel rushes towards the water’s edge.

Sam’s head breaks the surface of the water, long hair slicked all over his face, an arm wrapped around a brown haired little girl as he swims to shore, the lifeguard following after him.

“TARA!” howls the mother, stepping into the surf and holding out her arms. The little girl is breathing and crying.

Reaching the water to where it’s thigh deep, Sam doesn’t stand up and just wordlessly hands the little girl to the lifeguard, most of his body still underwater. Dean’s walking towards Sam, ignoring the water soaking his jeans.

“Sam, what the hell?!” Dean yells.

There’s a look of recognition on Sam’s face and Castiel can tell something is definitely off about the way that Sam looks at his brother. And then Sam’s turning away from Dean, Castiel, and the crowd that’s surging forward to thank him. Sam pushes back into the waves and dives below the surf, a large red and white striped fishtail breaking through the water behind where he just disappeared.

“SAM!” Dean shouts, fear ringing clearly in his voice.

The tail flicks above the surface of the water again, Sam’s head quickly follows it and Castiel feels fear pool in his stomach. “SAM!” Castiel shouts, joining his calls with Dean’s.

Thousands of thoughts are scrambling under the screaming wail of panic filling Castiel’s being as Sam turns away from the shore and dives under the water again.

The lifeguard who had tried to rescued Tara is holding Dean as the hunter screams and yells at Sam, restraining him from going into the water after his brother. Castiel isn’t sure when he started taking his clothes off, but stripped down to his boxers, trusting to his grace as he slips past the crowd, he rushes out into the water and dives down once it's deep enough to do so.

Salt burning his eyes a little, Castiel powers through the water, glad that Jimmy Novak knew how to swim once upon a time. Distant memories once shared with Castiel now push him through the water as he swims in the direction of where he last saw Sam. The sea is cooler than the air, but not by much. His strokes are confident as he powers his arms past the sides of his head, Castiel tries to feel for Sam, grace pooling to the surface.

In the vastness of the sea, Castiel feels a tug of Sam’s being against his own consciousness and Castiel shifts his strokes to head towards it. But his arms and legs are beginning to tire, the effort of swimming and using his grace like this again tiring him out faster than he had anticipated.

Slowing, Castiel suddenly feels a rush of water towards him and then arms are wrapped around him. A familiar pair of hazel eyes are staring into his as he’s dragged back to the surface.

Bobbing upright in the sea, Castiel says, “Sam,” his voice scratchy, “we need to go back.”

But Sam doesn’t say anything, choosing to lean in and kiss Castiel on the lips. The press of Sam’s lips against his own fills Castiel with a loving warmth and he rumbles low in his throat, wanting to speak and ask Sam to take them back to shore.

Finally, Sam breaks the kiss and stares at Castiel expectantly. Swallowing, Castiel nods and tilts his head towards the shore. “Let’s head back.”

Sam’s strong arm wraps around Castiel again, he swims the two of them back towards the shore. The lifeguard is still with Dean, both waving and shouting at the two of them, but Castiel can’t quite make out their words. Setting a steady pace, Sam soon brings Castiel back to the shallows.

Both Dean and the lifeguard head into the water towards Castiel, and Dean scoops him up onto his feet.

“Okay, I need you to—” the lifeguard starts saying to Sam, but Sam ignores him and dives back under the water again, a tail splashing out behind him as he disappears once more.

Castiel is too exhausted to pay much attention to what happens next, Dean’s distress apparently not enough for him to fail at looking after his friend. Distantly, Castiel hears something being said about the coast guard, but the seraph doesn’t have the energy to pay attention as he shakes out his wings.

There’s quite the crowd gathered on the beach now, and a corner of Castiel’s mind recognizes two men in plaid shirts, sleeves rolled up, staring at Castiel and Dean as they sprawl on the sand. Castiel tries to say something to Dean, but he can’t get the words together, everything is a little unclear now as an icy feeling of dread settles over his thoughts, pulling at his chest and making it tight with worry.

_Sam, please come back to us._


	4. Chapter 4

Swimming down to the bottom of the ocean floor, Sam circles, tail easily slicing through the salt water and lifting up swirls of sand. Startling a halibut from the sea bed, Sam gives chase to it as the fish tries to get away. He’s hardly swimming at all, and decides to overtake the halibut and leave the brown scaled fish in his wake. Everything is uncomplicated as Sam swims around, taking in his surroundings, there’s just him and the ocean. He’s not really thinking, just reveling in how fast and quick he can move.

The murky emerald cerulean world is as clear to Sam as the world above the waves. A calmness is here that he’s never felt before and he’s surrounded by so much life—he feels it all as he powers through the water, energy seemingly boundless.

A harbor seal catches up to Sam and they race past an outcrop of rocks, testing each other, playful and free. The seal is young, but not a pup. Is it instinct that let’s Sam know that the seal wants help rounding up a shoal of cod? Sam thinks nothing of following the seal’s lead and carolling the large group of gray fish until they can snag themselves a fish each.

Propelling himself to the surface, fish in his jaws, Sam breaks through and bobs in the water beside his seal companion as they eat their cod. Letting himself be turned by the small waves that are rolling by, Sam eyes the shore as he swallows a mouthful of raw fish. The sun is beginning to set and he can see lights like stars in the distance, lining the shore. Something about the distant lights clicks with Sam, stirring the memories of his humanity enough to make him finish his cod and start swimming towards the lights.

The seal follows beside Sam as they both duck under the water again. Sam can move faster than the seal, but he keeps a steady pace with it. They approach the shore from under the waves, breaking the surface again some fifty foot from the sand of Moody Beach. Finally, two words break through the pulses of instinct that have been driving Sam: _Dean. Cas._ The two names repeat in his head over and over. _Dean. Cas._

Swimming up to the shore, the seal beside him, they get within ten feet and the water starts to finally become shallow. The seal calls to Sam, wondering why he’s approaching the place, but the names in Sam’s head drive him forward until he’s crawling up the sand on his belly, tail dragging out behind him. Water splashes behind Sam and the seal is gone back to the waves.

 _Dean. Cas._ Sam crawls until he’s well away from the surf, skin and shrinking scales warmed by the previously sunkissed sand. The effort of crawling along and transforming back soon tires him.

A snuffling sound and footsteps crowd at Sam’s ears, but he’s in no shape to open his eyes and look at the source.

“Oh my gosh!” cries some woman’s voice. “Fifi, just what have you found!” A hand touches at Sam’s neck. “He’s still with us…”

The tones of cell buttons being pressed are the last thing Sam hears as he slips from consciousness.

***

“We were hoping to talk with the patient,” comes a man’s voice through a door. There’s the gentle beeping of a heart monitor, and the quiet rush of air from an oxygen tube at Sam’s nose.

Sam blinks his eyes open. The lights are low, but it’s still definitely night time.

“You’ll have to wait until the morning, the doctor said he needs his rest,” insists another man.

“But this is an FBI investigation.” There’s something about the voice that Sam doesn’t trust and he can feel his heart rate beginning to pick up, the monitor beeps faster.

“I don’t care. He needs bed rest. You can come back in the morning and question him then _if_ he manages to wake up by then. But I’m not waking him up now.”

Heavy booted footsteps approach the room. “They’re a problem, Francis?” asks Dean.

At the sound of his brother’s voice, Sam starts to calm down.

“No, Phil. I was just telling the agent he’ll have to come back in the morning, it being doctor’s orders that he rests up.”

“Well now, agent…?”

“Special Agent Swanson.”

“Special. Agent. Swanson... if it’s doctor’s orders then I suggest you head home and get some rest yourself. You can talk to my brother in the morning, if that’s what he wants.”

Lighter shoed feet step away from the door and Sam stays quiet.

“Alright if I check on my little brother, Francis?”

“Sure thing.” There’s the sound of Francis heading down the corridor and the door to Sam’s room finally swings open a little.

“You’re awake, great.” Dean steps round to Sam’s right and then thumps him on the arm.

“Where’s Cas?” Sam asks as he pulls the tube from his nose.

“Getting coffee.” Brow furrowing, Dean gives Sam an unimpressed glare. “ _What the hell were you thinking?!_ ” Dean hisses.

Sam tries to think back to on the beach that afternoon. “I… I… um… That I could save a little girl.” _Not that I was really thinking_ , Sam admits to himself, remembering the feeling of instinct taking over.

His brother gets right in his face and Sam can practically make out Dean’s pores in the low light of the room. “And when were you planning on telling me about, y’know, your new life as Ariel? Or had that slipped your goddamn mind?!”

Sam looks away from Dean. “I didn’t want to worry you... “ he says quietly.

“Christ, how did you think not telling me was going to play out? That I’d somehow end up less worried when some crazy shit like this finally happened?!” Dean pulls back and drags his hand over his face.

A tide of anger rises inside Sam and he says in a low voice, “I only found out the night before we left the Bunker. It’s not like it’s some huge secret I’ve been keeping from you for months that took away control of _your_ body.” He almost mentions Gadreel by name, but Sam knows Dean will understand what he’s getting at.

Dean’s jaw ticks. “Like you sneaking around to remove the Mark was any better.”

Glaring at Dean, Sam’s nostrils flare. “Yeah, ‘cause watching you kill the world was gonna work out great for everyone involved.”

The two brothers stare angrily at each other as the quiet sounds of the emergency medical center roll on by around them. Sam doesn’t want to back down. Sure they weren’t meant to be doing the same old crap, had promised not to, but he hadn’t even had the chance to really figure out what was going on with himself. And then he remembers holding back on telling Dean about Cas and the impasse breaks as Sam looks away.

Sam looks at his hands. “I’m sorry.”

Rather than some retort or just chasing the argument, Dean slaps a hand on his right shoulder and grips him tight. “It’s fine… I know now. Don’t suppose you know who or what put the whammy on you?”

Shaking his head, Sam sighs and closes his eyes as if that’ll help him get the answer. “No idea. There weren’t any hex bags back at the Bunker or in my things. I don’t think whoever did this was a witch.”

“You’re right, it’s a bit too 1980’s for me. Most witches would just try to kill you.”

The reference doesn’t go past Sam. “You’ve watched _Splash_?”

Shrugging, Dean lets go of Sam’s shoulder. “With some chick, a very long time ago. At her house.”

“Right…”

“And when did you watch it, huh?” Dean turns, pointing a finger at Sam.

Smirking, Sam returns the shrug. “Some motel room with nobody… probably while you were at that girl’s place.”

Huffing out a breath, Dean relaxes. “Not to be cold, but we can’t worry about your little mermaid act right now, we need to deal with that ghost first, before any more kids get killed.”

 _Right, saving people. Okay._ “I’ll check myself out of here in the morning, before rounds. Don’t wanna do it right now or else that… Agent Swanson will probably be breathing down my neck.”

Dean shakes his head. “Y’know, I ain’t so sure he’s an actual FBI agent.”

Sam quirks an eyebrow. “Another hunter?”

Dean and Sam both tense as the door to Sam’s room opens further, but then relax as Cas walks in bearing two machine made cups of coffee. “There’s another hunter?” Cas asks, walking into the room.

Before Sam or Dean can say anything, Cas gives Dean the coffees and then scoots down to lay a kiss on Sam’s mouth then pulls back. Cas tilts his head to the side and says, “You taste like fish. Cod specifically.”

A flash of gray scales and a seal swimming beside him soars to the front of Sam’s memories and he nods. “Yeah… I… caught a cod with a seal. We... chased a shoal of them together.”

Dean’s eyebrows travel halfway up his head and he looks at the coffees in his hands. “I need something stronger.”

“Regardless of your fishing exploits, Sam, I think Dean’s right about the agent being another hunter.” Cas takes one of the coffees back from Dean and cradles it in his hands.

“Oh?” Sam looks between Cas and Dean, while desperately trying not to think about how much he’d like to be alone with Cas right now.

“No offense, but a lot of hunters have a certain… look to them. There were two men, earlier, who were very interested in us back in the bar and I saw them again on the beach after you had swum off.” Castiel takes a sip of his coffee.

 _But why would hunters be interested in us? God, I hope it’s no one come to try and fuck with us, because obviously we can’t be allowed to make mistakes._ Sam nervously licks his lips.

“These two men,” Cas continues, “looked like brothers. Short, curling black hair. One had blue eyes, the other brown. Similar—”

“Agent Swanson has curling black hair and blue eyes,” Dean cuts in. “The fact that you saw him with someone who’s probably his brother, makes it…”

“Even less likely that he’s an FBI agent,” Sam finishes. “Look, we need to take care of Hayley Bennett’s ghost first. Don’t suppose you guys got any leads on that?”

“I did some research while we waited for you to be found,” Cas begins, voice a little less sure than usual. The change isn’t much, but Sam notices it and feels a sense of guilt at making Cas worry about him. “There is a town museum that contains items from the sideshow Hayley Bennett use to travel with. It includes some bells… that apparently she would tie to her children so she could hear where they were.”

“She had kids?” Sam asks, surprised.

Cas nods. “Three. But they were taken from her by the town folk here.”

Dean clears his throat. “Authorities thought she couldn’t look after them due to her conditions, but they were all the family she had. She tried to stop them, according to what Cas found. But she was bludgeoned to death when she tried. She’d been enjoying a rare day off with her children at the local beach when it happened.”

“Moody Beach,” Sam supplies.

“Yeah.” Dean finally takes a sip of his coffee.

“So we have a mother who was wrongfully killed while her children were being forcibly removed from her. And her spirit is now enacting revenge for this on the living. Great.” Sam sighs and looks between Dean and Cas. “If you knew all this, why haven’t you gone and done something about the bells.”

Both Dean and Cas shift awkwardly. “We were concerned for your welfare,” states Castiel.

Rolling his eyes, energy definitely returned, Sam switches off the machines monitoring him and starts pulling everything on him off. “Let’s deal with the bells and go.”

“You sure you feel up to it?” Dean asks hesitantly.

“I’m fine, but if we leave it too late she’s gonna go after another kid once the sun’s up.”

***

It had been tough keeping his hands off of Cas during the drive to the museum, but they had managed it. Just.

The local museum was a squat building, near the town’s library. Unlike so many of the buildings in Wells, it’s of brick build with superfluous columns on the front, either side of the main entrance. All of the widows are low enough to climb through. Quietly, the three of them head round back, Dean ready with a torch, a pair of pliers and a screwdriver to handle the building’s meagre security system. Each of them are ready with rock salt loaded shotguns, lighter fluid, packets of salt and books of matches—though Cas obviously has his angel blade as well, while Dean and Sam both have their preferred handguns and knives.

Francis hadn’t been too keen on letting Sam discharge himself at three in the morning, but $200 had convinced him that it was fine to help fudge things a little for them. All they needed to do was put Hayley Bennett to rest, and then they could get their things from the house and get out of town. So why does Sam feel like they are being followed even though he can’t see a single sign of this being the case?

Keeping an eye on their surroundings, Cas doing the same, Dean breaks a window that’s just in the right place to not be picked up by the building’s sensors. He’d explained on the drive over that the firm that had installed it hadn’t secured their files very well and he’d grabbed them off their server. Knowing where all the blind spots are, Dean leads them through the museum until they reach the control panel for security system. A few button presses later and some moved wires and they can stand where they want.

“I believe the sideshow history section is this way,” Cas says, turning towards a wing that they haven’t walked through yet. Following him, Sam keeps looking over his shoulder and through the windows of the place, unable to shake the feeling they’re being watched. The hairs on the back of his neck are standing up.

“Something the matter?” Dean whispers low as they follow Cas.

“Feel like we’re being watched,” Sam whispers back.

The sideshow display room is creepy. The walls hung heavy with black and white photos of people too unfortunate in life. Some undoubtedly mutilated to become nothing but things to help others earn money from their misery. Some look genuinely happy in their photos, their eyes not wary, their poses just the right side of natural. Old weights, cannonballs and a bed of nails put on its side so it’s standing seven feet tall are scattered around the room. There’s display notices explaining the exhibits dotted everywhere.

“Yeah… Cas… you… uh, picking anything up?” Dean asks the seraph, looking over his own shoulder as Sam does the same.

Cas turns to them just as they reach the display that has the bells. They’re as big as Sam’s thumb, tarnished copper. “Only for these past few minutes,” whispers the seraph. “And not clearly. But we should hurry.”

Turning to face Cas and the display, Sam’s about to ask why they should hurry, but then he sees Hayley Bennett’s ghost. She’s just as the little girl Marie described her. Raising his shotgun, Sam holds off from firing, not wanting to draw attention to the museum just yet with the noise it will make.

Hayley Bennett’s ghost—long dank hair, scaly skin and white eyes—stares at the three of them. What she didn’t have in life, she clearly has in death, preternatural senses working keenly as she eyes them up.

“Sam,” Dean starts, “on three.”

Sam nods. “Right.”

“One… Two… Three!” Dean shouts, lunging past Cas and grabbing the bells before chucking them to Sam.

Swiftly turning on his heel, Sam powers out of the sideshow as he hears what he thinks is the bed of nails crashing to the floor. This is followed shortly by a blast from a shotgun. Sam hears Dean and Cas running behind him soon after. He runs towards the window they broke in from and Sam’s through it in a flash. Throwing the bells down, he drags the salt from his jacket and sprinkles it on the copper of the bells.

Hearing more commotion inside the museum, Sam gets the lighter fluid out and sprays it over the bells and then quickly grabs his book of matches. Hayley Bennett appears in front of Sam just as he strikes a match and drops it on this bizarre funeral pyre.

Silent screams contorting her mouth, the ghost advances on Sam, close enough that Sam can feel the flames eating her. The fire quickly consumers her ethereal form and she suddenly explodes into a cloud of ash and embers.

“Sammy, you okay?!” Dean shouts, climbing out of the window, Cas right behind him.

Letting out a long breath, Sam nods and looks at the smoldering remains of the bells. “We need to go.”

“Not gonna argue there.” Dean starts leading the way back to the Impala.

Reaching Sam’s side, Cas holds out his hand towards Sam and smiles. They don’t need to share any words as Sam grips Castiel’s hand and twines their fingers together. The two of them march after Dean.

***

Back on the road, their things retrieved from the house, Sam is on the back seat with Cas. Dawn is breaking along the horizon. They weren’t going to drive all the way back in one day, planning instead on stopping off at a motel. Dean wants to head back to Atlantic City and see if they can find who or what turned Sam into a part-time merman.

Castiel is gently rubbing the small of Sam’s back, hand under his shirt, skin on skin, making Sam feel relaxed and turned on at the same time. He’s not sure quite when Cas slipped his hand under his shirts, but Sam’s not complaining as he turns to the angel and kisses along his stubbly jaw. Academically, he  knows that the two of them should stop right here and leave it until they have their own motel room, but then Cas pushes Sam down, the two of them awkwardly sprawling over the backseat as Cas cages him in.

Maybe Dean says something, but Sam doesn’t hear anything as Cas’s tongue prises his lips apart and they kiss. It’s wet as their mouths both salivate and Sam moans low in his throat as Cas grinds against him, the pressure sending thrills of pleasure up and down Sam’s spine. He doesn’t know how far things are about to go, but Sam eggs Cas on, pushing up to meet Cas, feeling the seraph's erection through his slacks.

They’re rutting on the back seat. Sam draws his hands down Cas’s back and then grabs the seraph’s ass, making Cas gasp into his mouth as they continue to kiss. This is the closest they’ve been in over twelve hours and Sam can’t believe he went so long without being this close to Cas. He doesn’t understand how he could have swum off without the angel. How he could have almost abandoned everything that Cas has to offer, even if it was only for a few hours in the end.

Sam’s unsure when the Impala stops moving and Dean gets out of the car, leaving the two of them alone, but it happens. Distantly noting that they’re no longer moving, Sam whimpers as Castiel’s lips leave his own. Panting and aching, Sam doesn’t understand what’s going on until Cas starts to undress them. Vaguely aware of being surrounded by towering pines, Sam moans as Cas’s fingers skirt along his skin, layers quickly being thrown to the floor.

“Cas, please,” Sam begs, though he’s not sure what for. His lover meets his words with lips on the inside of his thigh and then Cas bends Sam’s legs, exposing him further. The angel ducks down between Sam’s thighs, hands keeping his hips in place and before Sam can guess what Cas is going to do, a hot wet tongue presses at his hole.

“CAS!” Sam shouts, hands flailing around for something to hold. Finding a degree of purchase against the car’s leather, Sam whimpers and cries as Cas pushes the tip of his tongue past the first ring of muscle as he starts to eat out Sam’s ass.

Air thick with their smells, musk and flesh, Sam finds it hard not to shake as he looks down at Cas’s gently bobbing head, hair sticking up in all directions as he tries to work his tongue as deeply as he can into Sam’s hole. Pre-come thickly beads at the tip of Sam’s cock and he wants to stroke himself, but he knows Cas would rather do it for him.

Seemingly reading Sam’s thoughts, Cas reaches one hand up and over Sam’s thigh and wraps it around Sam’s leaking cock. Thumb deftly smearing the pre-come over Sam’s tip and making him shiver, Cas starts to fist Sam’s length in his hand. The tongue inside him presses a little deeper, pressure hot and intense, making Sam shout and curse for all the right reasons.

Then the tongue goes and Cas’s free hand is feeling in among the clothes on the floor. There’s the sound of a lid being popped off and Sam is about to start begging for Cas’s tongue to return when he feels the press of a finger at his rim and then it slips inside just as the pressure on his cock increases. It’s easy to see where this is going and Sam’s probably going to have a sore neck after from being scrunched up on the seat like he is, but he wants to be filled so badly. Just wants the connection of having Cas inside of him. Claiming him.

A second finger joins the first and Cas meets Sam’s eyes. “Do you want me, Sam?” Cas asks, voice hoarse from need.

“Please, Cas. Need you. Fuck, so much!” Sam begs, the two fingers inside him working hard to open him up. Cas stops scissoring for a second only to stroke his prostate instead and Sam bucks against the fingers, shouting, more pre-come slicking his cock as Cas’s hand squeezes and drags along his length.

Third finger slipping in, Sam can’t help bucking down against it, and Cas works with the rhythm he starts. Sam fucks up into Castiel’s fist and then fucks down onto his fingers, sweat beading his skin from the effort. Up. Down. Up. Down. Nerve endings singing.

Just as suddenly as things began, the seraph’s fingers are gone and Sam sobs. His cock is straining towards his stomach, red and hard, pre-come dribbling down onto his belly. Hole empty, Sam’s about to say something to Cas when there’s the sound of the lube lid clicking open. Then Cas pulls his legs apart and lines up, careful not to bang his head on the roof.

Gently, Cas eases his cock into Sam, and Sam does his best not to move and hurt himself. The wait is almost killing him, but finally Cas bottoms out and he pauses a moment as Sam adjusts to his cock.

With an experimental pull back, Cas waits half a second and then pushes back fully into Sam, hitting home and making Sam’s cock jump. Cas braces his hands on the backs of both bench seats, muscled arms holding him expertly in place. Similarly, Sam braces his hands against the backs of the seats.

They share a look, the heat in each other’s eyes clear. Snapping his hips backwards and forwards without warning, Cas begins a brutal pace as he pistons in and out of Sam. The only sounds are the smack, smack, smack of flesh on flesh and the low creak of the Impala’s suspension—all mixed with their breathing as Castiel wastes no time in driving his cock over Sam’s prostate again and again.

He doesn’t know how he’s been able to hold out for so long, but Sam’s quickly approaching the point of no return. “Cas… I’m gonna come!” Sam shouts out and it just makes Cas move his hips faster. Snap. Snap. Snap. Snap. Snap. Snap. Making Sam see stars.

“FUCK, CAS!” Sam really shouts this time, vision whiting out. Cas snarls something in enochian and Sam can feel both of them coming, hot wetness filling him from the inside as his own cock coats his stomach.

The seraph collapses on top of the younger Winchester, and Sam wraps his arms around Cas. Burying his face in Castiel’s hair, Sam breathes in Cas, savoring the hints of otherworldliness mixed with the mundane. Cas smells faintly of the sea still and Sam feels another pang at remembering how he swam off. Pulling Cas even closer, Sam kisses an apology into Castiel’s hair.

The door beside Sam’s head opens. “Right, YOU TWO CAN GET DRESSED RIGHT THE HELL NOW!” Dean screams at them. “AND IF YOU HAVE STAINED BABY’S LEATHER YOU BETTER BELIEVE THERE’S GOING TO BE HELL TO PAY!”

Dean doesn’t close the door as he stomps off, letting the cool morning air steal away the warmth their activities have generated. _Not going to be able to make up for this with kisses_ , Sam thinks as he and Cas finally rise from their love cocoon, minds a little clearer now that they’ve fucked each other’s brains out again.

Cleaning up goes as quickly as it can without running water, but while they may smell completely gross to Dean (and Sam may have Castiel’s come leaking out of his ass), they have somehow managed to not stain the leatherwork. When they’re finally about to get back on the road, Dean makes Sam sit up front with him, clearly hoping they can wait until they get to a motel before anything else happens again.

***

“This is for you, Dean,” Sam says, delivering the whole pie he just bought from the diner they’re eating at. The crust and filling are still steaming hot, the scent of cherry wafting into the air.

Dean has only just finished a steak and a bowl of fries. _I don’t expect you to forgive me straight away,_ Sam thinks as he waits for Dean to accept the peace offering. His brother eyes the cherry pie with a terse glare and then nods.

Handing Dean a clean fork, Sam sits down beside Cas and accepts an offer of a refill on his coffee as he pulls his laptop out. Dean starts eating the pie and Cas leans in towards Sam so he can look at the laptop screen with him.

“Are you certain _this_ has nothing to do with a witch?” Cas asks.

Sam’s laptop finishes booting up and he logs into it. “No hex bags. And I can’t imagine something like this being Rowena’s cup of tea. I mean, I was pretty okay as a merman, from what I can remember. The only, uh weirdness, is, well… how intense the two of us have been and the fact that I look like four years younger.”

And with that, Sam has finally voiced that he thinks that whatever this is, curse or some other magic, has affected how he acts towards Cas. Sam feels Cas tense beside him.

“So our feelings, our… this is all because of this merman _thing_?” Cas skewers Sam with his gaze and the panic is clear in his eyes.

“No, no, no! Cas, look,” Sam starts, squeezing Castiel’s right hand under the table, “I had feelings for you before this all started. Okay. Just things got crazy after our case wrapped at Atlantic City.”

Relaxing beside him, Cas nods. “I had feelings for you before then too.”

“Okay then.” Sam leans in and gives Cas a loving kiss on the cheek, not caring what anyone else in the diner may think.

There’s a loud swallowing sound and Dean clears his throat. “But this definitely started in Atlantic City?”

Taking a sip of his coffee, Sam sighs. “Yeah... the _intenseness_ started morning after the casino.”

Castiel lets go of Sam’s hand and twists in his seat to fully face him. “Sam, when you came back from your run that morning, your hair was wet like you’d been in the sea. You went for a swim rather than jogging.”

“Christ,” Dean mutters, then more loudly, “Okay, then someone put the whammy on you between us getting into that casino and that morning… But…”

“It was probably the casino. I mean, that decor? There were mermaids and mermen on some of the walls,” Sam observes. And then the fortune teller swims before his vision. Long, curling dark brown hair and surprisingly blue eyes. “It was the fortune teller. I’m sure of it.”

“Fortune teller?! You saw a fortune teller in the casino?” Dean looks at Sam like he’s suddenly grown two heads, rather than a fish tail.

Shrugging, Sam fingers the handle of his coffee mug. “What’s more important is finding out who he is.”

Sam starts searching for possible leads on his laptop while Dean finishes his pie. Cas stays close, his presence a comfort as Sam tries to narrow down the creatures of myth and legend that could have pulled this off. It doesn’t take long.

Pushing his laptop round, Sam displays an entry on the Greek God Triton.

“Triton created the Tritons, mermen and mermaids…” Dean reads out loud and then shakes his head. “Figures we’d run into another pagan god, sooner rather than later. But why do this?”

Sam shrugs and pulls the laptop back. “No idea.”

***

A few more hours on the road, they get to the edge of Atlantic City. Dean and Sam are ready to check into a motel and catch up on sleep they missed out on the night before. They stop at the first cheap motel with any vacancies, but there’s only a double available. Dean doesn’t ask Sam or Cas to make any promises about what might happen.

Curling up beside Cas in bed, Sam finds it easy to drift off to sleep. Once they’ve got more than a few hours in, they’ll be working to find Triton.

***

A high pitched whine wakes Sam from his slumber, Cas is awake and gives Sam an inquiring look.

“You can’t hear that?” Sam asks, wiggling a finger in his ear.

Cas shakes his head. “No. I hear nothing out of place.”

Wiggling his finger in his ear again, Sam looks around trying to see if anything in the room would make that noise. It doesn’t even sound like the whine of a television left on standby and the television is completely off. Getting out of bed, Sam pulls on some sweats and a t-shirt.

“Sam?” Dean asks, voice tired with sleep.

Cas is behind Sam as he walks towards the door to the room.

Grasping the brass handle, Sam slides the lock open, pulls off the chain and opens the door inwards. He sees some guy holding a conch shell in front of his mouth.

Then there’s a bright blinding flash and a roaring cacophony as the world outside explodes.


	5. Chapter 5

The light is so bright Castiel can feel his retinas burning, and  there's a horribly familiar tug from somewhere around his vessel's navel. A banishment sigil. The last thing he recalls is the blinding flash outside their motel room and now he is suddenly hurtling through the sky, a community park coming into view through the flames that surround him. Hurtling towards a swing set, Castiel does what he can to avoid hitting it, not wanting to deprive any children of their playthings.

He manages to change his course by just under an inch, and misses the swing set as he plummets into the park like a falling meteor. Dirt, grass and bark chippings fly up into the air as his vessel slides to a stop. Anger makes Castiel get to his feet before his head stops spinning. Rage makes Castiel stalk out of the crater he's created and look around his surroundings, try to get his bearings. Seeing a billboard for the same casino that they suspect was where Sam was transformed, Castiel knows that he is still in the vicinity of Atlantic City.

But something unknown makes him spread his wings in the space between, and he doesn’t feel undeveloped quills but feathers. Something unexpected has worked a miracle despite his current misfortune. _My wings,_ Castiel realizes and focuses his grace so that he can see between, _they are whole again_. With no idea as to how this miracle has been wrought, Castiel isn't about to question it when Sam and Dean could be in any kind of danger. Though an unsettled feeling in the pit of his vessel's stomach tells him that it is likely Sam that is in the most immediate danger.

Spreading his wings, Castiel already feels a familiarity and exhilaration as he takes flight—shakily—and heads back towards the motel. Landing outside the room, he senses one human presence and heads in. Dean is sprawled on the floor unconscious and Sam is nowhere to be seen. Kneeling beside Dean, Castiel presses two fingers to the hunter's forehead and senses nothing wrong bar his state of awareness, so he brings the man back to wakefulness.

Dean gasps and rolls over immediately, eyes wild with a mixture of fear and anger. “Sam?” is the first word gasped out of his mouth as Castiel helps him to his feet.

“Not here.” Castiel starts picking up their gear from the room alongside Dean. “Did you see who did it?”

“Yeah, two guys… one “Agent” Swanson and the other like that hunter you described from back in the bar and the beach.” Dean checks a shotgun he'd brought into the room, the rounds now in it are definitely for killing people, not staving off ghosts. “They banish you?” Dean asks, standing and giving Castiel a confused look.

Castiel stops with the duffel he was about to carry out to the Impala. “Yes.”

“Then how'd you get here so fast?”

“My wings have healed. Somehow,” Castiel offers lamely.

“Somehow? _Dude, your wings!_ You were only saying—” Dean starts.

“What's that human saying, Dean? Don't look a gift horse in the mouth? We can puzzle this out later. Right now we need to get to Sam.” Castiel starts towards the motel door.

“Shit, you're right.” Dean brings the rest of his and Sam's things with him and dumps it in the Impala. “You got a way to find Sam?”

“I believe that Triton will have a way of finding him.” Castiel opens the side passenger door and slides onto the front bench seat. “Sam is, for all intents and purposes at this time, one of Triton's people.” Castiel closes the door.

“We're not flying?” Dean asks getting in.

“I don't yet know my limits,” Castiel says, feeling his wings bunched up behind him.

Dean nods. “Makes sense. So, let's go get us a Greek god, huh?” The Impala's engine roars to life and Dean drives out of the motel lot.

***

Nothing's changed in the casino since their previous visit, bar it's a later hour and fewer patrons are milling around the place. There's still the kitschy weird mix of pirates crossed with the lost city of Atlantis. Castiel tries to ignore the stirring of memories that being back here brings to him. He kissed Sam for the first time in this place, and even though he's not human, he still feels a sense of sentimentality being here.

The stirrings of sentiment are harshly contrasted with his need to find Sam. He’d only just found Sam again and to have him taken so quickly—the injustice is frustrating, making Castiel feel more than just a bit like he wants to smite something or someone. He catches himself in a mirror behind the bar and sees his eyes are faintly glowing—Castiel tries to temper his fury and keep himself in check.

“Sam thinks our guy's the fortune teller, right?” Dean asks, leading the way through the main bar, eyes looking out for the alcove that had seemed to be Triton's domain during their last visit.

Castiel nods and sees the sign for the fortune teller’s spot—the sign says that he's closed. “He's not here.”

“Okay, well, you go check it out and see if you can get anything on it and I'll ask around at the bar.” Dean gives Castiel a “we can do it smile”, putting on a brave face before turning for the bar.

Heading to the fortune teller's spot, Castiel wonders why Triton is a) telling people's fortunes b) turning them into merpeople and c) putting himself out there like that. _Surely he knows that this would bring the attention of hunters? It is most unusual_ , Castiel concludes as he heads through a beaded curtain.

There's no one in the alcove, but Castiel's grace tingles from the influence of the being who has used the space. It's not that Castiel has anything against the pagan deities by default, and considering how even Gabriel had aligned himself with them during the apocalypse had shown Castiel, in retrospect, they could be allies at times. But what he couldn't stand was when they harmed humans.

Still, he couldn't outright bay for Triton's blood. The god had brought him and Sam together—he was just unsure of the price that had been paid for that. He didn't sense evil there as he looked at the crystal ball and stack of tarot cards that were for show more than anything else. Triton, like many gods, could sniff out the threads of fate and see where they led and that was what he undoubtedly used to provide his customers with insight.

Looking around some more, Castiel spots a sales receipt under a gaudy chair that Triton would sit on. The chair is almost throne like, covered in gold paint and with plush red seat and back cushions. Picking up the receipt, Castiel notes that it's for a takeaway pizza place on a nearby street and that the order is itemized, with a listing for “extra anchovies”. _Would a Greek god order extra anchovies? I suppose a Greek god of the sea might_ , Castiel contemplates and heads out of the alcove. While he doesn't have a detailed lead on Triton, Castiel knows his aura now. If he meets the old god, he'll know it's him.

“Anything?” Castiel asks, approaching Dean standing by the bar.

Dean gives him a look over his shoulder. “One of the bar staff said our guy has a woman he's sweet on.” The hunter turns and knocks back a small glass of whiskey and it's difficult for Castiel to hide the look of disapproval that clouds his features. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“Did you find anything?” Dean slides off his stool and pads over to Castiel.

Handing over the receipt he'd found, Castiel watches Dean's face.

“Extra anchovies?”

“Sea god.”

Dean gives Castiel a “really?” look. “Maybe they've got an address,” he relents.

“Come.” Castiel marches out of the casino, Dean jogging after him.

***

The pizza place led them to an apartment half a mile from the casino. Dean had made some joke about the pizzaman and the babysitter while they'd been walking over to the pizza place and Castiel couldn't help blushing at the memory that his words conjured. Now walking up through the modest apartment building, Castiel hopes that Triton will hear them out.

None of the information they'd managed to gather so far said how to kill Triton, but Castiel didn't want to give the impression they were there to eliminate the god. Stopping at the apartment door, Dean knocks on it and they wait. There's movement from inside the apartment, a couch creaking, floorboards shifting underfoot.

It was difficult to think that less than a day ago, they'd been hunting the ghost of Hayley Bennett and now they were potentially standing on the welcome mat of a pagan god. The past twenty-four hours had been strange, even Castiel could recognize that. And with his wings back now too—even stranger.

The door opens as far as the chain on it allows. A tall man with dark brown, long curling hair is visible in the gap, his body mostly hidden behind the door. Castiel lets his grace flow to the surface just that touch more and he sees Triton's aura before him.

“Excu—” Dean begins.

“Triton, we need to talk,” Castiel cuts in.

The sea blue eyes of the god narrow and Castiel resists the urge to cower. Seeing that Castiel is not cowed, Triton takes off the chain and opens the door. He's dressed only in gray sweats and crosses his arms, leaning on the door frame.

“A hunter and an angel. To what do I owe the pleasure?” Triton asks, an unimpressed gaze on his face.

“You… transformed my brother,” Dean points out, “and now he's missing.”

“If he is out at sea, he will come back,” Triton reassures.

“No, Triton, he's been taken,” Castiel supplies, hands clenched into fists.

The old god steps forward and regards Castiel more closely. “So he did take my advice.” The god smiles and then narrows his eyes. “Who's taken him?” there's an edge to Triton's voice that's sharp and threatening.

“Two hunters, we don't know them, but they have Sam,” Dean explains.

There's movement from behind Triton and Dean tenses, ready to pull out the handgun at his back if needed. Castiel holds up a hand to reassure Dean.

“Darling, what's...” the woman's voice drops off as she comes to the door, her dark smooth hair flowing down past her shoulders, hazelnut eyes fixing on Dean and Castiel as she comes to the door. She pulls a woolen blanket around herself. Castiel is certain she's naked underneath.

“Kali,” Dean states.

“Dean,” the goddess greets.

Triton looks between Dean and Kali, amusement on his face. “Small world.”

Dean shrugs. “You could say that. Now are you going to help us find my brother or not?”

Nodding, Triton turns to Kali and gives her a kiss on her cheek. “One of mine is missing,” Triton tells her.

Kali frowns. “The tall Winchester, Sam, Lucifer's vessel… he has been taken?”

Trying not to flinch at the mention of Lucifer's name, Castiel nods. “Yes, by two other hunters. We don't know why.”

“Hmm, if you should need help, I will come,” Kali says gaze softening. Castiel feels Kali brushing her awareness against his grace and he ruffles his wings a little. “I am still sorry about Gabriel.”

Of all the things the Hindu goddess could have said, Castiel did not expect that. Hearing Gabriel's name spoken out loud makes a twinge of regret rise in Castiel's chest, but he pushes it down. “Thank you.”

“Look, let me get some clothes on and I will join you in a moment,” Triton says, breaking the sudden quiet that's fallen between them.

The god heads back into the apartment and Dean turns to Castiel. “Can we trust him?” he whispers.

Castiel lets his grace come to the surface, hardly feeling the strain at all, and senses Triton with it. He feels no malice, but Triton’s aura is hard to read. “For this, yes.”

***

Triton is seated in the front of the Impala, hand stuck out the side window, a small conch shell cradled in his palm. He’s swapped his sweats for a gray suit. While he seems like he wants to help them, Castiel keeps a close watch on the old god while Dean drives, following Triton's directions as they circle closer and closer to where Sam might be.

But there are a few things on Castiel's mind. “Why is Sam… younger? Why has whatever you've done to him, done that?” Castiel asks Triton.

Dean risks a glance towards the god and then sets his eyes back on the road.

Silence settles in the Impala and it's some moments before Triton finally answers, “Just one of the many perks of being one of my people.”

Pointing out that Sam shares some sort of kinship with the god is enough to make Castiel tense in his seat. Triton must sense this, because he throws an apologetic look over his shoulder.

“It was not my intention to sow discord. I just wanted… to give this man the gift of _my world_. Sam has been through so much and had so little,” Triton tries to explain.

Dean snorts. “So having him turn into a merman whenever he gets covered in saltwater… that was a gift?”

“I can see how you may think that is not of much worth… but I would ask Sam when we find him if he enjoys his gift,” Triton points out, eyes focused on his shell.

Clearing his throat, Castiel feels the unfamiliar tinge of embarrassment as he states, “Your magic goes deeper than that.”

A chuckle makes Triton shake. “The emotions of the seas, of the oceans, they are _strong_ and _deep_.”

Apparently Dean knows what they’re talking about. “So that’s what the kids are calling it these days when two people can’t keep their hands off of each other,” he grumbles. “Why help Sam, as you see it, anyway?”

“I know many of my kind have given you much hardship over the years. That business with Zeus was regrettable… but Kali filled me in on your sacrifices. She’s been keeping an eye on you.

“And that you do try to clean up your messes.” Triton gives Dean a hard stare. “And that you normally succeed.”

 _The Darkness. Of course everyone knows about this now._ Silence falls again at that, with Triton only speaking to give Dean directions. While Castiel has worked through much of his guilt in regards to unleashing Leviathan on the world and aiding Metatron, he knows the Winchesters feel deeply about besieging the world too. Sometimes he wonders how they carry on, but he knows that both Dean and Sam have different ways of coping and that not all of them are healthy.

***

“Here,” Triton announces, pointing towards a warehouse. Castiel didn’t notice when they’d started driving through this industrial part of the city, but they are surrounded by large warehouses and chain fences. The buildings loom either side of them, like gray shells of unknown beasts. Castiel cannot tell if on other days the location would be busy, but many of the warehouses look abandoned.

Pulling up on a side street, out of view of the road they’d just come in on, Dean quickly gets out of the car. Bristling with the kind of energy that means if you’re in Dean Winchester’s way, you’re likely to end up dead. Castiel and Triton get out of the car and stand back while Dean opens up the trunk and starts arming himself with a little bit of everything, giving the grenade launcher a more than considering look.

“Not this time,” he whispers and Castiel knows that whoever the hunters in that warehouse really are: Dean is running low on forgiveness and patience.

While Dean busies himself, Castiel turns to Triton and narrows his eyes at the god, because there’s something else that’s been on his mind. “My wings,” Castiel starts and waits for the god to face him.

“What about your wings? I know about the mess you helped cause, angel. Not that it’s any of my business…”

Quirking his head and pursing his lips, Castiel asks, “My wings have healed—is that your doing?”

“Ha,” Triton shakes his head, “no. And I don’t think it’s your father’s doing either. No, no that is,” Triton squints at Castiel, “something far more fundamental at work.”

Castiel is about to ask Triton what he means, but Dean stalks over. “Either of you picking up anything on that place?”

Allowing his grace to bubble up, Castiel casts his awareness further than his vessel and is stumped, wards stopping him from seeing further. Letting out a huff, Castiel turns to Tritron to see if the god has had any further luck.

“There are four in there. Three men and a young girl,” says Triton, eyes closed as he focuses his awareness. “One is certainly Sam, I recognize his aura. I know not the child, nor the two other men.”

“Cas?” Dean asks.

“The warehouse is warded against me. Not heavily, but enough I cannot see in.” Castiel shifts from foot to foot, uneasy. _Why take Sam?_ “I still don’t understand why they took Sam.”

Dean shrugs and goes back to the trunk, opening it and pulling out a can of spray paint. “Doesn’t matter, we’ll get him and whatever kid they’ve got their hands on.”

“And if they try to kill us?” Castiel asks.

“Humpf, well, I don’t care much for the judgement of human authorities,” Triton points out, “if they’ve harmed Sam, my wrath will be great.”

“If they’ve hurt Sam in any way, you can get in line,” Dean says, closing the trunk and leading the way to a hole in the fence that surrounds the warehouse.

Triton bustles up to Dean and stands in front of the hole. “Give me that,” he orders, holding his hand out for the can of spray paint.

Dean hands the can over and Triton disappears within the blink of an eye and then comes back. There’s a smear of red spray paint over his fingers. Without doing anything, the trunk of the Impala pops open and Triton drops the can inside it. The trunk seemingly closes of its own accord. Castiel doesn’t miss the glimmer of fury that flashes over Dean’s face, but the older Winchester stays quiet.

“Shall we?” Triton asks, snapping his fingers and a literal golden trident appearing in his hand. He twirls the long weapon and marches through the hole in the fence, making Dean and Castiel jog after him.

Each step towards Sam makes Castiel thrum with desperation. He can sense Sam clearly, now that the wards are gone.

“If you could just zap in there, why didn’t you just grab Sam?” Dean hisses at Triton.

“He and the child are caged. The cages are enchanted against almost all preternatural influence, including myself, certainly our angel friend here.”

“Great, just great. Okay, we get in there, you two handle those bastards and I’ll try to get Sam and the kid free.” Dean pulls his handgun out of his jeans.

“I hoped that would be the plan. Come.” Triton leads the way towards a side door.

The three of them don’t make a grand entrance, instead Triton opens the rusting red door with a wave of his hand and the three of them quietly file in. Castiel can’t see himself right now, but he knows his eyes are glowing, because Dean gives him a backwards glance and pales a little before turning away. Sneaking in like this makes sense, they don’t want Sam or the girl to get hurt, but Castiel can’t help the urge to rip loose and show these so called hunters how badly they’ved messed up.

Slinking past rotting wooden crates, the solitary part of the warehouse with light comes into view. Triton must be one “sneaky sonofabitch” Castiel concludes as he spots the spoiled warding sigils dotted around the warehouse. The hunters hadn’t noticed the defacement of the sigils one bit, instead they were sat around a folding table, on folding chairs, working their way through a bottle of Jack. Beside them are two refrigerators, their power cables leading all the way to a distant wall where the hunters must have jacked into the local grid. Nearby is a large butcher’s workbench, knives of varying sizes resting on top.

Behind them, twenty feet away, is a tall standing water tank, ladder beside it, filled with water and a transformed Sam. Castiel’s mouth goes dry at the sight, his vessel tingling as he takes in the majestic beauty of Sam as a merman, red and white striped fins, like a Lionfish, spines and all—hair flowing around his face in a halo. Pushing down the impure thoughts he’s having, Castiel turns and spots the girl in cage, the one Triton had mentioned: the girl is Marie, the psychic girl from Wells.

Anger flares deep within Castiel, and his wings spread out behind him. A bulb explodes, sparks falling to the cold concrete floor and drawing the attention of the two hunters. Dean and Triton don’t have a chance to say anything as Castiel zips to the hunters.

“How dare you,” Castiel rumbles. Another bulb explodes and distantly Castiel is aware of Dean shouting something, but Castiel doesn’t know what as he raises a hand towards the two men. They get to their feet, hands reaching for guns that must be concealed in the backs of their jeans and Castiel chooses to send them flying across the warehouse with a wave of his hand.

Denim and plaid drag along concrete. Castiel advances on the two men and stands before their prone bodies, glaring at them furiously.

“Wait, Cas!” Dean shouts, a hand landing on Castiel’s shoulder. “Don’t…” Dean doesn’t finish, but a part of Castiel registers that Dean doesn’t want him to kill these two men, at least not yet. He lowers his raised hand that was ready to make them fly again.

Triton comes to stand at Castiel’s other shoulder. “We’ll watch over them while you free their hostages,” Triton says, casting Castiel a concerned glance.

“Thanks,” Dean says dryly, stalking off to help. He snags a ring of keys from the table the two hunters had been sat at.

No longer on the verge of smiting the two humans before him, Castiel's awareness tells him that the two men aren’t all that they seem. That they’re not completely human, but Castiel doesn’t understand how that’s quite possible, because it’s like there’s a whiff of multiple supernatural beings about them. _What are they? Who are they?_

“Do you have names?” Castiel asks, brow furrowed.

“Francis Dark,” says the blue eyed brother, the one who once identified himself as Agent Swanson.

“Stephen,” answers the brown eyed brother.

“So,” Triton points his trident at the two men, “why did you do it?”

“Isn’t that my line?” Dean calls from where he’s trying to open the lock on Marie’s cage.

The two hunters stare at Triton and Castiel, jaws clenched, determined to say nothing. It’s almost unnatural the way they’re not talking.

“You’re holding them there,” Castiel states.

“As a precaution. I can’t be the only one smelling how not human these two are.” Triton waves a hand at the two men. “They’ve been taking their vitamins,” the old god growls.

“We are right here, you know,” says Francis. His blue eyes dart between Castiel and Triton, and then looks past them at something near their table.

“Look, I’m sure we can come to some sort of arrangement,” Stephen suggests. Castiel doesn’t look at him, instead turning his gaze towards where the blue eyed brother has just looked.

“You got this?” Castiel asks Triton and the deity gives Castiel a nod.

Striding over to the table, Castiel looks at the two refrigerators there. Brushed steel exteriors, narrow but as tall as Castiel. Opening one on his right, Castiel finds beer, water, milk and food. A glance around the space reveals a camping stove. Satisfied there’s nothing out of sorts with the one refrigerator, Castiel closes it.

Dean grunts from beside Marie’s cage, there’s a ring of keys in his hand as he tries each one in turn to find the one that works. They all look like they could work in the lock there and Castiel wonders just how many more cages like this the two brothers might have.

Turning back to the refrigerators, Castiel opens the one on his left and feels a wave of nausea pass through his body. The chilled space is packed with tupperware filled with hearts, eyes, fingers, tongues, spleens, kidneys, livers, stomachs, brains, lungs, quills, feathers and much more.

The door of the cage finally swings open and Castiel backs away from his discovery. All he knows is that the parts aren’t from humans, they’re from creatures that are part of the supernatural world. “Dean,” Castiel calls.

“Give me a sec, Cas,” Dean replies. Castiel remains staring at the parts and Dean appears at his shoulder.

“Shi—” Dean cuts himself off and hides Marie’s face in his shoulder. “They’re shamans,” Dean states and a distant piece of lore clicks into place in Castiel's head. He’d read something of this in Dean’s own hunting journal.

“Shamans ingest parts of preternatural beings to take on their powers,” Castiel recites.

“Bingo.”

 _They were going to carve up Sam and Marie_ , Castiel realizes with growing horror and fury. Before he can zip back over to Trident, Dean pushes Marie into his arms and closes the door of the refrigerator.

“Take her home and I’ll try to get Sam out,” Dean orders, heading off to climb up the ladder beside Sam’s tank before Castiel can say otherwise.

He looks down into Marie’s blue eyes. She looks a little scared, but otherwise okay. Glancing over at Dean as he starts testing keys on Sam’s lock, Castiel feels split between taking Marie home and waiting to be sure Sam is safe. Marie stares up at him, look beseeching and Castiel finally nods in agreement with Dean’s order and Marie’s own need. “I’ll take you back to your mother. Please, don’t be scared, Marie.”

The little girl nods and tightly clings onto him.

“Think of where your mom is, Marie,” Castiel asks, voice warm and hopefully comforting. Bringing his awareness forward, Castiel gets the image of a holiday home, near where Dean, Sam and him had been staying in Wells. Flexing his wings in the space between plains, Castiel grips Marie close and flies.

He wants to feel elation and joy as he spreads his wings and hurtles up the coast, but Marie’s own fear is palpable and Castiel’s own concern about Sam makes that impossible. The two of them reach the house and the lit living room that holds a sobbing mother within. Castiel touches two fingers to Marie’s forehead, changing her memories of the day.

“She is safe,” is all Castiel says as he looks at the startled woman staring at him. He puts Marie down and the little psychic girl toddles over to her mom. Castiel is gone within the blink of an eye.

Little has changed in the warehouse, but Castiel is certain after his second flight that he is more like his old self than he has been in a long time. Or not, as he catches sight of Sam still contained in his watery prison, pleading look on his face. Sam mouths “I love you” to Castiel and Dean notices this as Castiel mouths “I love you too” back.

“Cut it out, you two,” Dean grumbles and finally a key clicks into the lock just right. He pops off the lid and Sam pushes up to the surface of the water.

“A little help here,” Sam pleads, bobbing at the top of the tank. Dean reaches down into the water and Castiel helps to keep the ladder steady as Dean pulls Sam out.

“Damn, you’re heavy,” Dean complains, passing Sam down to Castiel who doesn’t find him heavy at all.

Holding Sam in his arms, hazel eyes and wet lashes staring up at him, Castiel can’t hold back any longer. Seizing Sam’s salty lips with his own, Castiel kisses the merman senseless as he grasps him in his arms. Sam’s tail flips in the air and knocks over the ladder that Dean has just climbed down from.

The front of Castiel’s shirt is soaked through by the time their mouths separate and Sam gives the seraph an apologetic look.

“So,” Sam says against Castiel’s jaw, “you got your wings back.”

“And you look younger and have a tail. These are strange times,” Castiel huffs, trying not to grin like a maniac. “Let’s dry you off…”

“I’ll go help out our old god,” Dean announces from behind them, stomping off to the other side of the warehouse.

Carefully lowering Sam to the warehouse floor, he looks for something to dry Sam with. Spotting some cots the hunters have been sleeping on, Castiel grabs the sleeping bags on them, opening them up and bringing them over to Sam. He gently pats the sleeping bags over Sam’s tail and after a few minutes the brightly striped scales melt away, splitting to reveal two very human, very manly legs. The tantalizing sight of Sam’s bare cock is almost too much, but Castiel manages to tear his eyes away long enough to wrap Sam in his trench coat and preserve some of his modesty.

Once Sam is covered, Castiel helps his lover to his feet and they amble over to where the two hunters are still cornered.

“I am glad to see you well,” Triton announces, a fondness in his voice, much like a father might have for his son.

“Uh, thanks,” Sam says. Castiel pulls the hunter close to his side and the two of them stand beside Dean.

Dean lets out a long breath. “Were you going to kill that little girl? Were you going to kill my brother?”

The four of them know the answer, but Castiel knows that Dean needs to be certain. It’s clear from the equipment in the room and the stench of stolen power that they were going to kill Marie. The nervous flicker of their pulses tells Castiel that these two hunters care nothing about how they obtain power, only that they stay alive.

Both hunters stay quiet.

“Why did you do this?” Castiel asks.

The brown eyed brother, Stephen, swallows and says, “To make hunting easier.”

“So you would take an innocent life to protect the innocent?” Sam asks, voice tinged with anger.

Neither of the brothers reply.

“They won’t stop,” Triton states for their small gathering. A round of knowing nods and mutters breaks out.

“Yep.”

“Of course.”

“No doubt.”

“They already have preternatural abilities,” Sam states, “we can’t take them to the police, they’ll just break out… and what if they go back for Marie?”

Despite wanting to kill the men earlier, Castiel knows he should show more clemency than these men ever would, lest he become no better than them. He doesn’t need more regrets to weigh him down.

“Triton,” Castiel starts and faces the old god. “I don’t suppose—”

“Oh, I do have somewhere,” Triton says, breaking Castiel off. “My prison is always open to fresh blood.”

“Will you be able to hold them?” Sam asks.

“For the rest of their natural lives,” Triton answers with a shark like smile.


	6. Chapter 6

Dressed in his own clothes again, hair still drying, Sam looks between Triton and his brother. Castiel’s arm is hooked around his waist, but they’re all waiting for his answer as they stand beside the beach where Sam first transformed. The surf gently foams across the sand as dawn light blazes pink across the sea blue sky. Gulls are circling nearby, their calls out of synch with the caress of the waves across the beach.

Triton’s new guests have already been spirited away and their ill gotten gains burned, but the old Greek god is waiting on Sam. They all are—waiting for Sam to make decision. To make a choice. If Sam’s being honest with himself, he knows his history of making choices isn’t the best.

He long ago decided that joining Dean to find their father wouldn’t have changed the outcome of him being forced back into the life. Azazel and his forces would have done their utmost to have dumped Sam out of his life at Stanford—Jessica on the ceiling was inevitable.

Sam knows he could have chosen better with Ruby. Said no to her manipulations while Dean was dead. And that’s just to start—he can’t bring himself to think back on Purgatory, or Charlie, because then he’d realize that Dean doesn’t need him. _Nor Cas_.

Staring out to the ocean, Sam tries to ignore the way the waves are calling to him. The foam looks inviting and even with Castiel at his side, he wants to step out of his shoes, pull off his clothes and dive into the water. But the thought of leaving Castiel again snaps him away from the ocean’s hold on him. He’ll never forget the way it felt to swim freely, like he was a master of his own domain, but does that mean he wants to be a merman? _I never wanted to be a freak_ , Sam muses, leaning into Castiel’s hold.

 _I just wanted to be with the man I had come to love_ , though even as Sam thinks of this, he starts to wonder how much of their affections had been whatever Triton had done and what had really been between them. He doesn’t want to lose Cas.

“Will Cas and I still… love each other if you make me human again?” Sam asks, finally breaking his silence.

The old god gives him a puzzled look as he looks between Sam and Cas. “This love that the two of you have? I only nudged you towards it.”

Cas clears his throat. “Yes, but the… virility, we have seen...”

Triton quirks an eyebrow and looks like he’s fighting to not laugh his ass off. “If I can only leave you with one gift in this world, I will happily allow that to remain and take back the rest.”

“Sorry, gift?” Sam asks, confused.

“Our… generous, ancient god here is dating Kali, heard of your exploits and decided to give you the authentic Ariel experience when you walked into his booth,” Dean explains. “And c’mon, it’s bad enough he suddenly looks four years younger than me, we don’t need him deaging, back to like, a foetus in some freaky Benjamin Button crap.”

“Really, Dean? That’s the issue? My soul’s over one hundred and fifty years old as it is.” Sam crosses his arms and he feels Cas chuckle beside him.

Silence, broken only by the waves and the gulls, settles between the four of them again. The choice is there, but another question remains. “What about Castiel’s wings?”

“I didn’t do that. That was all you.” Shrugging, Triton looks at the two of them again.  “ So, Sam, what’s your decision?”

“But…” Sam wants to ask more about Castiel’s wings.

Triton shakes his head. “Decision time, hunter.”

Licking his lips, feeling the salt there, Sam glances back out to the roll of the Atlantic ocean. Cas is sure and solid beside him, while Dean looks at him in a way that tells Sam it’s his choice.

“I think I’d rather have two legs, thank you,” Sam announces. A sting of regret lances him, but feeling Cas relax beside him,Sam know he’s made the right choice.

“As you wish,” Triton agrees, voice filled with a tinge of sadness. He waves his right hand in Sam’s general direction. For a second, Sam’s skin tingles and then it stops. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have two prisoners to settle down and you have a world to save.”

And Triton was gone.

“Time to hit the road.” Dean marches away from the beach, clearly expecting Sam and Cas to follow him. And they do, Sam wrapping his arm back around Cas so they’re mirroring each other.

The Impala’s near by and just as Sam’s about to slide into the back with Cas, Dean grunts.

“Sammy, you’re driving,” Dean announces.

Sam looks between Dean and Cas, but Castiel’s nonplussed look tells Sam he’s not in on this. “You’re trying to keep us separated.”

“I wanna get home sometime before this century. We got over twenty hours on the road to get through. I can’t be stopping each time the two of you wanna give each other a hickey.” Dean slides into the front of the car and looks at the two of them.

Apart from trying not to think about giving Cas hickies whilst looking at his brother, Sam shakes his head, in disbelief. “Fine, I’ll drive, but I’m picking the music.”

Before Sam goes to get in the driver’s seat, Cas takes him aside and pulls him close, hands either side of his face. The seraph kisses him long and deep, tongue slipping into his mouth, claiming and calming all in one. Cas pulls back and strokes Sam’s hair, still longer than it has been in several years.

“You’re beautiful, Sam Winchester,” Cas says, his breath brushing over Sam’s lips. Castiel’s words make Sam’s stomach do a little flip and he wishes they weren’t leaving, but instead checking into a motel room.

“And you’re stunning, Castiel,” Sam murmurs, leaning forwards and giving Cas a gentle kiss to the side of his mouth. Slowly they disengage, both throwing each other longing looks. “When we get home,” Sam hints.

Seated in the Impala, Sam switches on the stereo and turns the dial to a soft rock station. Jeff Buckley’s rendition of “Hallelujah” is playing and Sam can’t help humming to it as they finally leave Atlantic City.

***

Dean’s behind the wheel when they rock up at the Bunker. Sam and Dean grab their duffels, too tired to worry about weapons checking just that moment, and they stagger into the living quarters, going their separate ways. Fuzzy mind vaguely aware of Cas following him, Sam almost falls through his open bedroom door, he’s so tired but Cas is there to catch him just in time.

The seraph takes Sam’s duffel from him, setting it down in his room and helps steer Sam to his bed. “I just need an hour,” Sam yawns, butt hitting the mattress. Cas gives him a knowing look that Sam chooses to ignore while his boyfriend’s tender fingers unbutton his clothes and undo his boots.

Stripped down to his boxers, Sam nuzzles at Cas. “Now you too.”

“Only if you sleep a while,” Cas murmurs, allowing Sam to help him strip. Soon he’s down to his own boxers and easing Sam into bed. Sleepiness overrides Sam’s desires to do anything more with Cas and he burrows down under the bed covers, allowing himself to be the little spoon.

Despite how how tired he is, Sam’s thoughts circle back to Atlantic City and how he’d quickly figured out what Francis and Stephen were doing. Their setup painfully familiar to what he’d once faced before. He’d been brought in unconscious, but once he woke up in the tank, he could see them carving up some poor kitsune. His true horror had come when he saw Marie in a cage beside him, the little girl quiet, but clearly scared.

Lips press against Sam’s shoulder and he drags himself away from his thoughts, calming his mind and seeking peace within Castiel’s embrace. Steadying his breathing, Sam relaxes against Cas and slowly drifts off to sleep.

***

Lips push against Sam’s, demanding entry that Sam readily gives. He tastes and smells Cas, senses filling with the seraph, sleep quickly leaving him. Blearily opening his eyes, bedroom bathed in lamplight glow, Sam feels the press of himself against Cas, limbs entwined and their filling cocks brushing past each other in the confines of their underwear. Sam feels like he’s been asleep for more than an hour.

Unwinding himself from Cas, Sam kisses his way down his lover’s body, lips tasting and savouring every inch of the angel as he slips under the bed covers. Getting them out of their underwear, Sam brings his lips to Castiel’s chubbing cock and takes it into his mouth. It doesn’t take much to bring Cas to full hardness, Sam’s tongue eagerly caresses the underside of Castiel’s length in a way he knows the angel likes.

Each lap of Cas sends a taste of salt, musk and something unidentifiable across Sam’s tongue. Bobbing away at Castiel’s length, Sam hums in pleasure as Cas snakes his fingers into his hair, tensing the digits just right. Cas doesn’t try to wrench control from Sam, but Sam enjoys the little gasps he works out of the angel as he starts to take Cas deeper than usual.

Pulling his mouth off of Cas brings a disappointed moan from the seraph, but Sam has other plans for him. Shifting back up Castiel’s body, kissing as he goes, sucking and biting here and there, Sam draws level with Castiel’s face once more. Sam lets Cas taste himself on his lips and in his mouth.

“Morning,” Sam greets.

“More like afternoon,” Cas corrects, fondly stroking a hand through Sam’s hair. Even if it’s the afternoon, they don’t need to rush off anywhere—Dean’s not hollering about a case. The ground’s not shaking. They have time.

 _Okay, maybe I needed more than hour_ , Sam thinks, stifling a yawn as he brings a hand to both of their aching lengths and enclosing them in his fist, pressure pleasureable and yet doing nothing to satisfy the longing in the pit of Sam’s stomach. “Wanna try… something… different,” Sam explains, hand stroking both of them. “May I… be inside you?”

Castiel’s eyes shine with desire at Sam’s request and he surges up on his arms to meet Sam’s mouth. Eagerly kissing, Sam’s fist continuing to work them over, time seems non-existent. Easing away for air, Cas nuzzles at Sam’s cheek and hums something that sounds like a “yes”.

“Do you want me to?” Sam asks.

Cas rolls his hips towards Sam, in time with his teasing fist. “Yes,” he hisses.

Opening his fist and letting them go,Cas whines and Sam reaches over to his nightstand to grab some lube. Kneeling beside Cas, taking in the vision of his reddening hard cock before shifting down the seraph's body, Sam can’t help drinking in Castiel’s messed up dark hair, blown pupils, kiss swollen lips and trembling frame. The sight makes Sam’s cock ache, heavy and leaking between his legs.

Giving control over to Sam, Cas spreads his legs and Sam gets comfortable between them, resting Castiel’s left leg over his lap. Sitting up, side on to Cas, Sam drizzles lube onto his right index finger, allowing it a moment to warm before pressing his finger against Castiel’s hole. Reaching over Cas, Sam takes the seraph’s silky warm, hard length into his left fist and slowly jerks him off as he gently circle’s Castiel’s hole.

“Sam,” Cas whines, hips trembling. “Please.”

“Hey, I got you,” Sam reassures and picks up the pace of his left fist. Cas gives a low moan, body twitching in pleasure and Sam presses his index finger past the first knuckle, Cas giving way to him more easily than Sam expected. He doesn’t know if Cas has ever done this before, but he always seemed to know what to do with Sam.

Looking down between Castiel’s cheeks, Sam watches Castiel’s hole eagerly take his finger. Buried all the way in, Sam experimentally crooks his finger inside Cas and brushes where he thinks his prostate should be.

“SAM!” Cas keens, pre-come pooling at the tip of his cock. Pulling his finger out and adding more lube, covering a second finger, Sam can’t help smiling at the pout on Castiel’s face at the sudden absence of Sam’s hands. But the seraph is moaning again soon enough, two fingers inside him and Sam’s fist on his cock.

Another finger and Cas is ready, begging Sam every time the hunter touches that sweet bundle of nerves inside of him. Scissoring Cas a few more times, Sam finally pulls his fingers out and takes his hand off of Castiel’s cock.

Cleaning his hands from a pack of wipes, Sam slicks himself up. Keeping Cas on his back, he places a pillow under the angel’s hips, and then kisses Castiel’s thighs in an attempt to stay calm. Sam is keen to push into Cas and give the seraph some of what they had shared many times since revealing their affections for each other, but he doesn’t want to hurt Cas. Lining up, Sam holds onto the base of his cock, easing himself into Cas, watching for any sign of discomfort. Cas washes over Sam’s senses, all ozone and summer, begging to be a part of him.

Sam bottoms out and waits for Cas to adjust to him, holding his hips still, resisting the urge to rut into Cas—the seraph’s enticing tight heat making it incredibly hard not to just fuck him. Shifting between Castiel’s thighs, Sam bends over Cas, bringing his hands either side of Castiel’s head.

Their mouths meet, and Sam kisses Cas slow and sweet, hips sliding back and then forwards—a gentle thrust. Elation hums under their skin, Sam can feel a shared joy at the two of them being home, at everyone being alive and whole. Cas shows his appreciation in the way his hands skirt up and down Sam’s shoulders and arms, fingers light and full of worship.

This isn’t the training room again, nor the back of the Impala. The two of them work their bodies in sync, slowly climbing the path to release, Sam setting a pace that isn’t urgent. They don’t have to hide from Dean or anyone—they can just be. Thrusting gently in and out of Cas, the bed creaks with his movements, but he doesn’t care—he only has ears for the way Cas groans and grunts, whispers of Enochian fluttering over his skin or being chanted into his mouth.

Sam mimics Cas, but his words are in English. He speaks of love and being one, sweetly possessing every inch of the angel with his body. But it’s a mutual, unspoken agreement that makes Sam start to speed up, Cas meeting his thrusts, tight heat making Sam pant and whimper the faster they go. At the back of Sam’s head is the disbelief that the two of them are here and like this in the first place, but Sam shoves the disbelief down for faith that they can be more.

Body tensing, a low pull deep within him, Sam’s about to come when suddenly Cas surges upwards and flips their positions, pushing Sam down to the bed as he straddles Sam’s lap. Long fingered hands grasp at Sam’s chest, Cas rising himself up and down on Sam’s cock, slick and wet sounds filling the room with their labored breaths.

“Fuck, Cas,” Sam splutters, on the verge of orgasm.

All that Cas manages is a garbled word of Enochian and then he spills hotly onto Sam’s stomach and chest. The bedside lamp flickers and Sam catches a glimpse of shadows shaped like massive wings, then his vision whites out the second his orgasm hits. Cas doesn’t stop moving until Sam finishes coming and opens his eyes again.

Opening his eyes, Sam stares up at Cas, bliss filling every cell of his being. He reaches up and pulls Cas down, the movement pulling Cas off of Sam’s softening cock. They’re sticky and smell of sex, but Sam needs to cuddle before he can even contemplate a shower.

***

Morning sun beats down on the square, warming the slabs beneath their feet. Concordia is an hour’s drive from the Bunker, but Cas had flown them there, to a farmers’ market. It feels good to be out of the Bunker and away from books that aren’t telling them anything new.

Eyes trailing over the fresh greens in front of him, Sam tries to remain calm while Cas brushes their hands together. They’re a touch more reserved than they were while Sam was a merman, but each time they touch it feels like the energy that passes between them could birth stars and galaxies. It’s been a long time since Sam was in love and his heart swells whenever he thinks of a future together with Cas.

The stall owner gives Sam a warm smile, but leaves him to his vegetable browsing, she instead turns to another customer and serves them. Visiting the farmer's market had been Castiel’s idea. In between getting his Netflix fix and researching the Darkness, Cas had become quite the fan of several YouTube cooking shows and he wanted to cook for Sam and Dean that evening.

The plan was lasagne made with fresh tomatoes and also a side selection of winter greens to go with it. Sam isn’t meant to help him, just be on standby if things go horribly wrong, but Cas reassured him before they left for the market, that he was sure everything would be fine. Dean had taken some convincing and agreed so long as he didn’t have to go with them via angelic transportation.

“Do you think these tomatoes would go well in the dish?” Cas asks, holding a tomato in his hand. Sam’s mouth quirks into a smile as he watches Cas heft the berry and sniff it. “It is hard to focus on it in a human way, so that I consider the produce as a whole.”

“If you want, you can try it,” the stall owner pipes up, done with her other customer.

“Thanks, that would be great.” Sam takes the tomato from Castiel’s hand and bites into it. Sweet, tangy juice floods his mouth and Sam savors the freshness. They haven’t had a home cooked meal in weeks, the three of them too deep in research. But Cas had managed to cook a few basic things and Sam didn’t see any harm in letting his boyfriend try.

“How is it?” Cas looks at the bitten tomato in Sam’s hand.

“It’s good, try it.” Sam offers the tomato to Cas, but rather than take the berry from his hand, Cas takes a bite out of it while Sam holds it. _And oh… maybe I should try feeding Cas things more often, because that is hot. Okay, down, Winchester, we’re here to shop_.

“Mmmm.” Cas chews and swallows. “Yes… this is nice.” They buy tomatoes, and greens for on the side. A grocery store furnishes them with the rest of what they need and a carton of chocolate ice cream.

Sam marvels at moving around the city with an angel, doing something as mundane as buying groceries for a meal. It’s just so incredibly normal, the kind of normal that Sam used to crave so very hard. If he was still his twenty two year old self, he would have begged Cas to just stay there in Concordia, slip away into the background and become a fixture there.

Sam knows he isn’t that guy anymore and probably never will be again. Instead of leaving, he’s walking with Cas into an alleyway, ready to head home, arms full with grocery bags and—Cas insisting that he will make his own fresh pasta sheets to go in the lasagna.He’s happy with the doses of normal he can get.

Wrapping an arm around Sam’s waist, Cas takes them back to the Bunker. One second Sam is in an alley and the next he’s home and helping Cas put their groceries away. They’ve got sandwiches from Dean’s fave place in Concordia and Dean seems to smell the fresh bread and meat the moment Sam places his sandwich on a plate, he walks in, smile on his face.

“Well something smells good at least,” Dean announces, grabbing a beer from the fridge and taking his food into the incident room and setting up at the map table.

“Just you wait,” Sam says, bringing his sandwich and beer in, Cas follows Sam in with his own cup of coffee. “Cas is going to be cooking up a storm.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” Dean smirks.

***

The kitchen is covered in chopping boards, utensils and bowls. On the stove simmers a pan filled with homemade sauce, an opened bottle of red wine beside it. Flour covers the table and Cas is holding a rolling pin in his hands, splotches of flour on his cheeks and arms where he’s rolled up his shirt.

Dean’s looking for their next case, but he keeps coming in and popping his head round the corner to see how things are going, the smell of the sauce finally convincing him that he won’t need to pick up something for dinner.

“Okay, so you just need to roll those dough balls out into thin sheets, as thin as you can make it,” Sam prompts while Cas just stands there, pin in hand.

Despite the whole process looking like a generous act by Cas, Sam suspects that the whole thing is a way of saying sorry to Dean for all the inconveniences him and Sam had put Dean through. Especially the Impala incident. Not that Dean has mentioned it since and Sam suspects he probably went through at least one full bottle of Johnnie Walker to no longer suffer flashbacks.

“Do you think Dean will enjoy the meal?” Cas asks, starting to roll a small ball of dough.

“Of course, Cas.” Sam steps round the table and rests a hand on the small of Castiel’s back.

“Good, because I have read that this is one of the best ways to say sorry for past transgressions.” Cas gives Sam an unsure look.

 _So it is an apology_. “Some of that was… Triton’s gift,” Sam points out.

“But I should have had better control of myself,” Cas points out, making smooth work of the first dough ball.

Tilting his head, Sam kisses the side of Castiel’s neck and steps away. “We’ll know that the next time one of us is turned into a merman.”

“You looked very handsome as a merman,” Cas says, starting on the next ball of dough.

“Wait, what?” Sam turns back to Cas.

“As a merman you were very alluring,” Cas reiterates. “But I do prefer you with two legs. Two legs Sam is the best Sam,” Cas quickly covers for himself.

A companionable silence settles between the two of them and Sam pulls out the greens that they’re going to grill to go on the side. The grill pan has already been tracked down, though Dean was less than impressed that the pan was being used for greens rather than steaks.

Once the pasta sheets are ready, Cas starts layering browned meat, sauce, pasta and cheese into a lasagna dish. The seraph shifts and Sam feels a brief rush of air. He recalls Castiel’s wings and wonders how they could have been healed.

“You think very loudly, Winchester,” Cas murmurs, putting the finishing touches to the lasagna.

Sam shrugs and puts down the knife he’d been preparing the greens with. “Cas, how come your wings are healed?”

“A moment,” Cas replies, opening the oven and putting the lasagna dish in. He closes the oven door and stands. Cas walks over to Sam and wraps his arms around the hunter.

“Your wings,” Sam prompts.

Cas kisses Sam gently on the lips and pulls him close, getting flour on Sam’s shirt. “I believe the singer Jeff Buckley said it best, “Love heals all wounds and not just time alone.””

Taking a moment to understand what Cas has just said, Sam doesn’t quite believe what he’s hearing. “Are you saying that… us, this… our love healed your wings?”

“Triton was certain it was not his magic. Said it was because of us. Love is very powerful, Sam, and until we took those steps towards each other, my wings were only slowly healing.” Cas kisses the top of Sam’s head.

It’s not that Sam doubts Castiel’s wisdom on this, but it’s kind of hard to believe what he’s being told. “Next you’ll tell me that love conquers all.”

Cas gives Sam a look that suggests butter wouldn't melt in his mouth, obviously having planned on saying that exact same thing. The look is both sweet and sublime and Sam needs to do something with it.

“C’mon.” Sam tugs on Castiel’s tie. “We’ve got a while until we need to do anything else.” The two of them leave the kitchen and head for Sam’s room, Cas making sure he sets a timer on his cell for the food before he reaches their destination.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've wanted to write a merman!Sam fic for a very long time and I hope that you enjoyed what I've tried to do this in a canon verse setting.
> 
> Comments and kudos appreciated.
> 
> You can find me on Tumblr at [dreamsfromthebunker](http://dreamsfromthebunker.tumblr.com/).


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